


Stories of Fire&Ice

by sailorshadzter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, got fix it fics, jon x sansa - Freeform, jonsa, jonsa drabblefest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 08:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 102
Words: 117,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21389338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorshadzter/pseuds/sailorshadzter
Summary: a collection of game of thrones inspired works. mostly jonsa.these differ from the tumblr asks as these are ideas that have come from my own creation / inspirations.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 103
Kudos: 351





	1. JIMSA

When the queen stepped into her court with a swelling belly on display, her people could do little but cheer for her good health and the future of their kingdom. After all the North had been through, their young unmarried queen having a baby out of wedlock was the least of their worries. In truth, they were overjoyed that their beloved queen was finally happy. Besides, it was well known who the father would be, though the queen would often remark her child was sired by the wolves, and none could be displeased with her choice. 

She settled upon her throne and held her head high as the double doors opened, revealing her latest visitor. Tyrion Lannister had written some time ago to tell her he wished to make a goodwill visit to the North on behalf of her brother, King Bran, who sat upon the throne in Westeros. As Tyrion approached, he too noticed the swell of the queen’s belly beneath her dark green gown. “Your grace,” he bowed low before her throne, raising himself only when she spoke a greeting. “You look… Well.” He said, trying to choose his words as carefully as possible, recalling the young queen’s quick wit and temperament. He would regret dearly upsetting such a woman, especially in her condition.

Sansa can’t help but to laugh, her smile easy going as she leaned forward on her throne. "Thank you, my lord. I welcome you to Winterfell." She is as he remembered- charming, beautiful, her mid stage of pregnancy offering her a radiant glow Tyrion had never before seen in a woman. It gave her an ethereal look, in truth. "I hope your journey was not difficult, now that spring has come, I imagine the roads must be easy to pass." Spring had shown its face some months ago, the very same day she had first woke to the morning sickness of the same child she carried. 

"Indeed, your grace, my journey was quite enjoyable." Tyrion responded, already enjoying this queen, finding her far more agreeable than the last he served. Though he was Hand to her brother, Tyrion found himself loyal to House Stark overall, and so he would serve this young woman as much as he served her brother. There was much to discuss with her and her lords, but he found he was much more curious about her growing belly than state politics. Though here in her court was the last place to speak so freely. 

"I have had chambers prepared for you," Sansa says, her voice bringing him back from his own mind. "I'm sure you want to rest. I will have food sent to your rooms. Tomorrow, we can meet again, there is much to discuss between us." Her words are final and her smile dismissive, though her sapphire eyes are gleaming as she looked down upon him. 

"Thank you, your grace," he replied before rising back to his full height and with a wave of her hand, he turned to walk back towards the doors he'd come in through. He paused for only a moment to glance back, surprised to see that Sansa had already risen from her throne, ducking out of the great hall on the arm of a dark haired man. A very familiar dark haired man, at that. Impossible, Tyrion thought before he pushed out the doors, though he was smirking as he shook his head. Though, perhaps not impossible at all. 

[ x x x ]

"Might I ask a question?" 

Lord Royce paused in his exit from his chambers, turning back to face the Lannister man with a nod. "Your queen... She is with child, but she's unmarried." Lord Royce does not respond but his expression is rather stony, which Tyrion at once can tell his directed at him and not the fact the queen is carrying a bastard. "And I have this strange notion that I saw Jon Snow leaving with her just moments ago, though he is banished to Castle Black." 

"Jon Snow? Here, at Winterfell? Preposterous." Lord Royce says, shaking his head. "You must mean Jim Frost." 

Tyrion doesn't know if he's being made fun of, but from the look on the Lord's face, he is quite serious. "Jim... Frost?" _Really? _

"Yes, he is the emissary for the Night's Watch, you see." Tyrion could swear the lord's lip twitched with a smile. "Jim has sworn fealty to our queen and he remains here at Winterfell, though he makes a monthly trip back to Castle Black." 

Though he wanted to ask more, Lord Royce bids him a good night and now all Tyrion can do is ask the woman herself. 

[ x x x ]

It took only a few short hours for the two of them to come to terms on a few things- namely trade between their two kingdoms. Securing peace between nations had been the utmost importance since Bran took the throne of the remaining six kingdoms and it had begun by the oldest practice in the book: weddings. Sansa had already agreed to wed Alys Karstark to one of Bran's own lord's oldest sons, the union already agreed on by the pair themselves. There had been talk of Sansa marrying the young Prince of Dorne, though such a thing was certainly out of the question now, though peace would not suffer for it. The Prince of Dorne would have a bride and someday, perhaps he would have a son or daughter to wed Sansa's own, should the gods wish it so. 

"You know..." Tyrion's voice brings her from her own thoughts and she looked up at him, sitting across from her with a goblet of wine in hand. "I've been wanting to ask you..." Sansa chuckled at his expense, noting his uncomfortable expression. "About the... Father of your child." 

Ah, she thought with a smile, leaning back to press a hand against the curve of her belly. "It is a child of the wolves," she spoke cryptically, reminding him of the king he'd left behind in King's Landing. "A new young, white wolf to someday rule the North when I am gone." She could already feel in her bones that this child would be a boy, a son with the Stark look, a son she would name Robb after the brother she had lost. 

Tyrion took a long sip from his goblet before speaking on. "Yes, well... I have seen a familiar face among your court." Sansa arched a brow at his statement, but her rosy lips are still yet curved into a smile as she looked back at him, nodding for him to go on. "I am quite certain I saw Jon Snow on your arm just yesterday." 

Sansa supposed she should have known he would find them out at once- this was Tyrion Lannister after all. And well, she and Jon had not been hiding so well now that her pregnancy was too far advanced to hide from the public. Her lords had long suspected her relationship with Jon since the first day he had returned to Winterfell, some six months after his banishment to Castle Black. "Jon Snow is at Castle Black." She spoke with that same smile, tilting her head, red hair cascading over her shoulder. "You must mean Jim." 

"Jim Frost? Lord Royce mentioned him." 

When the young woman laughed, Tyrion knew he was being fooled. "Indeed, Jim Frost." Her blue eyes gleamed as she settled back against her chair, hands pressed against the curve of her belly. "I don't blame you for mistaking him for Jon- he is as dark haired as any Stark, but I assure you he isn't Jon." When her gaze settled upon him, Tyrion knew the conversation was over. 

And he also knew one other thing... Jon Snow was certainly the father of the queen's baby. 

[ x x x ]

It was as he climbed into the carriage to leave, having said his goodbyes to the queen and her court, that Tyrion turned and saw them. Sansa was leaning on his arm, her red head tipped against his, laughing at something he was saying. As if feeling his gaze upon them, both she and the man turned for one last look, and that was when Tyrion caught sight of the man's face. Jon Snow raised his hand in a wave and Sansa smiled at him from where she stood, but then they both turned back and went on their way, leaving Tyrion to climb inside with a smirk on his face. _Jim Frost, indeed._

When he arrived back to King's Landing and reported back to Bran, the first thing the king asked was about his sister. "She is pregnant, is she not?" Bran asked as Tyrion poured himself a goblet of wine, his tone implying he already knew the answer to his own question.

"She is." Tyrion replied as he settled into his usual chair at the table. 

"And it is Jon's?" 

Tyrion can't help but to laugh. "She says the child was sired by wolves, though she hangs upon the arm of a man that looks remarkably like Jon Snow." Bran blinked and shook his head, the look upon his face that of amusement. "They call him Jim Frost as if no one knows." It is Bran who laughed then, a sound unfamiliar to Tyrion- the usually stoic king rarely even smiled, let alone laughed. "They care so much for your sister that I think they would call him a horse if she asked." 

"It would seem a pardon for Jon Snow is in order." Bran gestured for a piece of parchment, which Tyrion slid to him but a moment later. "I think he has been punished long enough, don't you?" Tyrion gave a single nod and watched as Bran leaned over the parchment, his handwriting scrawling across several lines before he looked up again. "See to a wedding gift." Is all he says before sliding the now folded and sealed parchment back to Tyrion, who gives another nod. He got up and crossed the room, to the window where a single raven sat waiting and he tied the scroll to its leg, watching as it soared out into the blue sky.

[ x x x ]

No one was surprised when just a month later, a raven arrived announcing the marriage between the Queen in the North and Jon Snow, now Jon Stark, the new King in the North. Even less surprising was when two months into their marriage another raven arrived to announce the birth of the North's crown prince, already called the Young White Wolf by his people. It was rumored for all of his life that the prince had been born of the wolves, just as his mother had always said, though others would gossip about a supposed wildling lover the queen had before marrying her king. A wildling named Jim Frost. 


	2. losing theon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon would always be a Stark to her, even in death.

When she thinks about Theon, it hurts.

The pain steals the breath from her lungs, it douses her in ice. She spends the long hours after the battle among the survivors- she stitches wounds, she cleans burns. She does anything that she can to keep him from her mind- but he always drifts back. It isn't until Lord Royce touches her arm and tells her to go rest that she realizes the sun has been up for several hours now. 

And so she walks the crumbling halls of Winterfell, knowing the home she had only so recently gotten back was nearly destroyed. It would take months of rebuilding to bring Winterfell back to its glory. She recalls walking these same halls back when Ramsay had lived- the chambers he had kept her in were destroyed now and she was thankful for it. Those rooms she had not returned to since taking Winterfell back with Jon. 

Jon... She thinks of him as often as she does Theon, though with a much happier state of mind. Jon lived through the battle and though injured, he would be well enough to rise from his bed later that day. The same went for Arya, for Brienne. And for that she was so very thankful. 

Though she had promised Lord Royce she would go to her chamber to rest, Sansa found herself climbing the stairs to the floor above that still yet remained in tact. Up there in a hall to the east was a hidden door that opened up onto the battlements. Well, what remained of them, anyways. She needed just a moment in the snow; a cold moment of solitude that would clear her mind before she did indeed try and rest. But as she stepped out into the afternoon sun, she found she was not the only one who needed a moment to himself out there on the battlements. 

He turns to her as she approaches, his lips curving with the smallest of smiles. It's a I'm so happy to see you sort of smile, it's a I'm so thankful you're alive sort of smile. One that she feels in the deepest corners of her soul. Without a single word, they understand each other. Sansa comes to stand beside him, their shoulders just barely brushing as they look out over the courtyard of their home. By now, it's begun to empty out- beds have been found for those too injured to be moved, while those with lesser wounds have been taken in wagons to Wintertown for care. Their own family members are inside somewhere, warm and tucked into bed, safe. Alive. "I'm sorry," Jon finally says and Sansa turns to look at him, brow arching with her silently posed question. "About Theon." 

The world stops turning for just a moment and Sansa steadies herself upon the railing of the battlement. "He died a hero," is all she can say in response, blue eyes closing as she fights against the rising wave of tears. She won't cry. Not again. 

It's a moment later that she feels Jon hand upon her arm. She turns back to him and Jon tilts his head as that same hand rises up to tenderly touch her cheek. "He did," Jon nods, knowing well that Theon had died to protect Bran. And he'd have died to protect Sansa, now and back then. What he'd done for Sansa alone had been all that kept him from killing him with his own two hands. What he'd done for Bran had merely cemented Jon's opinion of Theon. "I have something for you." He then says, reaching into his pocket for something. He extends out his hand and into her gloved palm he drops a direwolf pin. "It was found down in the crypts." It could have come from any one of the Stark graves down below and Jon thought it most fitting to give to the Lady of Winterfell. 

Sansa clutches the pin tightly in her hand and for the first time in what felt like years, she smiles. 

[ x x x ]

The following morning, she leans over Theon's body, wishing it had not come to this.

All around her, they are mourning their lost comrades. Sansa can't bring herself to leave him, not yet... Not yet. After all that had happened, after all that they had been through... Theon had left her alone. They had survived the worst of men, making it out from Ramsay Bolton with each other's help. She would never forget the day she first saw "Reek" and the feeling of red hot anger that had surged through her then. Anger at him for she still yet believed him to be guilty of murdering Bran and Rickon. But anger at Ramsay too, for destroying the once proud and arrogant Theon Greyjoy. It had not taken long for her to know the truth and that anger turned to sorrow, to pity. But then Ramsay began to hurt her and her pity turned to understanding.

Back then, all they'd had was each other. When everything was falling apart, they only had each other. And when she needed the courage to escape, to keep on living, Theon had given it to her. He would have died that day to keep her from going back with Ramsay's soldiers. He would have died in the godswood for her or for Bran or Arya or even Jon. Theon Greyjoy was as much a Stark as any of the rest of them. 

All he had ever wanted was to belong to the family he'd been forced to become part of. All he had ever wanted was to be loved and respected as much as Robb. To have Ned Stark call him son, as he called all the others. Sansa reaches up for the silver direwolf pin Jon had given her the day before, pinned over her heart just that morning. _Goodbye, Theon,_ she thinks as she slides the pin into place in the leather of his jerkin. For one last time, she smooths back his hair and then steps away to listen as Jon begins to speak.

When Jon has finished, she takes a torch from a man in Stark livery and returns to stand beside Theon's body. She takes a deep breath and touches the burning flame to the straw, taking a step back as the flame begins to take root. It grows bigger and bigger until she must take several more steps back, the flames overtaking Theon's body. She watches in silence as the flames consume him and all of the others, too; one by one, they say goodbye to their friends, their family. 

It isn't until she feels the touch to her arm that she turns away. Jon is there yet again, reaching for her before all those standing there. He takes her into his embrace and Sansa loses track of how long they stand there together. But finally, Jon tugs her gently away from the funeral pyres and towards Winterfell, towards home. 


	3. Over and Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one of many scene rewrites of jon kicking ramsay's ass.

She can't look away from the sight of Jon kneeling on the ground, leaning over Ramsay who lay on his back in the dirt. Jon draws his arm back, his hand that touches her cheek so gently each night curls into a fist as he lays the first punch. Then it's another. And another. Over and over again, Sansa watches as Jon bloodies both his knuckles and Ramsay's once smirking face. She believes he will kill him and her heart flutters; part of her wants him to do it, to end that monster's life as he deserved. And yet... Part of her wanted it for herself. 

And then, he stops. 

As if he can feel her eyes upon him, Jon pauses with his arm pulled back, fully prepared to throw another punch. But the moment his eyes fall upon her face, he steadies himself, feeling as if the world has suddenly become clear once again. Sansa, her name is a whirlwind in his mind, his heart beating wildly within his chest. She takes a single step forward, as if she means to come to him, but he doesn't want her near. He would not allow Ramsay the satisfaction of seeing her face ever again, even in a moment like this. And so he rises up to his feet, realizing only then just how much his knees have begun to wobble. He's tired, so very tired, and all that keeps him going is her standing there, just out of his reach. 

It's as he stumbles that she's there to steady him, there to catch him. Jon leans into her, raising his face to hers, drinking in the sight of her porcelain features, of her perfect blue eyes. How was it he ever went a moment without her? "Take him in chains," Jon commands to the nearest soldiers, two men in Mormont livery that jump to do as he's bid them. He then swivels his gaze back to her; she's pale and shivering, but she puts on a brave sort of smile when their eyes meet. "I told you I would protect you," he says softly and her smile widens, lids sweeping over blue eyes as tears gather upon her lashes. Her hand that rests on his elbow slides down and takes him by the hand, warm and small in his own. 

In this moment, she's forgotten Ramsay entirely, she's not even spared him a glance when he's dragged away by the soldiers. "I'll never doubt you again," her voice is a thread and Jon squeezes her hand in response. "Come on, let me clean you up." Her voice is stronger this time and Jon nods, allowing her to draw him away from the courtyard and back towards Winterfell. 

Back towards home. 


	4. Starving.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> daenerys asks the wrong woman the wrong question.

"What do you know of starving, Lady Stark? My _children_ are starving." 

Indeed, what does she know? The truth was, she knew well what starvation could do. She remembers the day well, when the poor starving folk of King's Landing lay siege to their King. Even the most loyal of beasts would turn on their master if starved. 

In truth... She recalls the stench of uneasiness, the telling silence. They should have known. _Long live the King._ It's not a joyful call, its cold and harsh. The people were dying in the streets, starving while the King that strolled by ate hearty. She recalls the sound of tearing flesh, of ear piercing screams; the sight of the arm torn from a man's body had been burned into her mind. She recalls the fear she felt running through the streets, the fear she felt when a man knocked her down and put his hands upon her. She recalls being more scared than she'd ever been in all her life- if only that day had been the worst of them all. But it was true... What did she know of starving?

_It's a game, wife, where we see how long before you beg the way I like._ Nothing can ever let her forget what it was like with Ramsay, though she wishes she could. Every moment with him was imprinted upon her very soul, though she'd give anything to rid herself of the memories. She recalls the sharp pain of hunger that nothing could satisfy, she recalls wishing she were dead. But again, what did she know of starving? 

"My people are starving." She finally speaks, locking sapphire eyes upon violet. The dragon queen presses her lips together, nose flaring. "You call yourself our queen yet you do nothing to protect those you force into submission." There are murmurs of assent among the Northerners. "You ask me what I know of starving... I have seen it with my own eyes, the madness it creates in men and beasts alike." She feels Jon's eyes on her, she always can. "Even the most loyal soldier will turn on his King when he's starving," the dragon queen squares her shoulders but stays quiet. "You ask me what I know of starving... I know enough to know what will happen in a few short weeks whether we win against the Night King or not. You and your precious children have doomed us to starve, all because you made a choice to burn the supplies the Lannister army carried. A queen should protect her people, lead them to triumph. But you have led yours to death." 

What does she know of starving... What indeed.


	5. After tomorrow.

When Jon woke the next morning, it was to the sound of someone tending to the fire. Opening an eye, he peered out across the still dark room, making out the tall frame that belonged to Brienne of Tarth- Sansa's ever faithful sworn sword came every morning to ensure her lady was warm before waking. As the lady knight stood, the fire came to life, casting the room into a golden glow and for a split second their eyes met. But then Brienne gave a single nod and left the room without a word. Jon knew how much Sansa trusted the woman and so, he knew he could trust her, too. Even with a secret such as this one. 

Beside him, Sansa stirs, and he sits up in bed to look down at her as she yawns, one arm over her head in a stretch. A moment later she rolls over onto her back, only then noticing he's there beside her in bed. "You're still here," she says with a smile as their eyes meet, sitting up herself, fur covers clutched close to her naked frame. 

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." He says with a smile, watching another one bloom on her pretty features. But then he sobers, remembering the night before, remembering the words he'd still yet to say to her. "I have something to tell you," he reminds her, watching as she rises from the bed, revealing her bare, lithe frame to his gaze. She reaches for her nightgown which had been laid out for her the night before but never even worn. When she's dressed, she turns back to face him, the fire illuminating her from behind. She nods finally, its all she can do. The words are there on the tip of his tongue but suddenly, he's lost his nerve- he's afraid of what she's going to say or do. But then she leans in, kissing him quick, offering him the little bit of encouragement he needed. "It's about my mother... And my father." 

And then he begins to speak, weaving for her the words that Sam had told him only a few nights ago. "My mother was never kidnapped... Never raped... He loved her and so he married her in secret." Jon finishes, looking down at his hands on the fur covers. Sansa's mind is spinning as she takes in all that Jon has said- her aunt Lyanna was his mother, his father the dead Targaryen prince Rhaegar. Now she was beginning to understand things from childhood she'd thought she'd forgotten about. Her father's insistence at always keeping promises, of always being honorable to your word. There had also been a time she'd overheard her parents arguing about Jon and her father had angrily reminder her mother that she was never to speak of the boy's birth again. And so... Even her own mother had not known the truth. Ned Stark had gone to his grave with this secret of his, all to protect the nephew he'd taken in as his own. All her life she'd been raised to think of Jon as her brother, but this truth of his birth meant... He was her cousin. How had she never noticed? Everyone always said what a remarkable resemblance there was between Jon and Arya, the only two of the siblings to look like a true Stark. And everyone always said Arya looked like their aunt Lyanna. Sansa herself had looked up at her aunt's statue and noticed the uncanny resemblance between them. She had always thought it was just Jon looking like their father, nothing more, nothing less. But in truth... He looked like his mother. It was almost hard to believe he could have been fathered by a Targaryen prince, so like a Stark was he. "Say something, Sansa." He pleads, reminding her she'd not spoken for several moments now. "Anything."

She sinks down onto her bed beside him, reaching out to tenderly touch his cheek, smiling when he raised a hand to cover hers. "It doesn't change anything," she knew him well enough to know what raised fear within him. He was afraid he had lost his place in their family. Jon Snow who had always wanted nothing more than to be a true born Stark was now not even a bastard. He was a prince, a King some might even say. His eyes widen at her words, his mouth wordlessly opening and closing again. "You're always going to be Jon Snow to me." His features soften and Sansa wraps her arms around him as he falls against her, his head buried in the crook of her shoulder. She puts a hand into his hair, stroking his dark curls. "I'm your family, no matter who your parents were. And Bran and Arya, too." Her voice ghosts across his skin as her other hand trails the length of his spine, softly caressing every scar she feels. 

Jon draws back from her, he can't help himself, he needs to look into her beautiful eyes. He has to wonder how fate could be so kind to him, to bring him this girl who meant everything to him. "I love you," he says as he pulls her to his chest, breathing her in; if it were up to him, he'd never let her go again. _I love you, too,_ her whisper is so soft he can't even be certain he really hears her voice at all. 

One thing was certain, he was thankful that tomorrow had finally come. 


	6. Her name is Alayne.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon realizes he once met Sansa when she was Alayne.   
Now he feels awful.

'What is your name?"

He's staring straight ahead, unable to tear his gaze from the face of the young woman before him. She's beautiful, with long dark hair worn in a Northern sort of style, though her eyes are the color of the summer sky just before nightfall. "I told you, Alayne." She replies in that demure voice that does not seem to belong to her. She smiles, cheeks two full blooms of color, but the joy never quite reaches her eyes. And in any case, Jon doesn't believe her. "I am daughter to Lord Petyr Baelish, though bastard born." She goes on, lower lip caught between teeth, a gesture he recalls from childhood. It is what Sansa used to do when she lied.

_ But this is not Sansa,_ he reminds himself,_ she says her name is Alayne. _

"You remind me of someone," he says after a beat of silence, noting when she flinches at his words. _She said her name was Alayne._ "My sister." He thinks of her, with her fire kissed hair worn in fashionable braids, her rosy lips twisted with disdain. They had never been close, he and Sansa, but she was his family all the same. And given the circumstances... They were the only ones left. _But maybe it is just me._ There was a sorrow in thinking he was the last of his bloodline, though bastard born, the blood of the Stark's flows through him. "She played the harp as beautifully as you." 

It's there on the tip of her tongue; a confession, it lingers on her mind far after she's separated from him. For years, she's wished for rescue, to be taken from her dark world and saved. But now, here on the verge of a marriage with the son of a man who sits in her home, she knows she's finally in control. She doesn't know Ramsay Bolton, but even he cannot be as bad as Joffrey. Someday, she will have daughters to give to happy marriages, and so this one will be worth it. "It was nice to meet you, Lord Commander." She dips him the appropriate curtsy before she steps around him, wishing with all of her heart that she was brave enough to tell him the truth. To not have to marry a man she doesn't know, a man who longs only for her ties to the North, not for her. _I must be as brave as my lady mother,_ she thinks, knowing her mother too faced a wedding with a man she did not know. 

Jon watches her disappear into the crowd and he feels sick. He knows he should have stopped her.

But now she was gone.

[ x x x ]

  
"I didn't know." _Yes, you did._

She smiles, looking down at her feet before she shakes her head. "I know," she replies, soft and slow, raising her gaze to meet his. "I didn't want you to." _Yes, you did._ She remembers back then, when the Night's Watch had shown up at their door by invitation of Lord Baelish himself, intent on making friends with the last surviving son of Ned Stark. It had not worked, of course, and Jon had left before the festivities could begin. But, with him he'd taken the memory of Alayne.

"I'm sorry," he doesn't know what else to say, but his warm hands lingering on her hips is apology enough. Sansa leans into him and he can't help but to breathe in the scent of her; roses and Ghost. 

"There's no reason to be," she replies, her voice muffled as she buries her face into his neck. The grip of his hands makes her forgot every other thought she's had. Makes her forget every other touch she's ever felt. Jon's touch is warm, it's gentle, it's everything. "I thought I knew..." She admits, pulling back just enough so she might look into his eyes. She had thought she would marry Ramsay Bolton and take back what was hers. Her wedding night had told her otherwise. "All that matters... Is we have each other now." Jon's only response is to tug her closer, to feel the warmth of her body against his own.

She was right, all that mattered was the now. 


	7. Morning Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon enjoys his morning visits to Sansa's rooms... Even if old Agatha doesn't.

When she thought about it, Sansa knew she'd have given up anything to have her family back. 

If only she had been smarter back then, if only she had listened to her father when he had told her he was sending her back to Winterfell. But she had fought against leaving King's Landing back then and then days later her father lost his head. She'd been left a prisoner to Joffrey and his mother, mistreated by the boy king and his court. And it wasn't much longer after her father's death that she lost her mother and her oldest brother, too. Alone in the world with no one left to protect her, she got her first taste of true sorrow.

Back then, she had thought life could not get much worse. Oh, if only she could have gone back to those days! Her time spent in King's Landing had been truly awful but then she'd been sold to the Bolton's and her life had become so much worse. Though rescued from Ramsay's clutches, Sansa would not ever forget all that he had done to her; tortured and raped, used and abused. Though her physical wounds had mostly healed, Sansa knew part of her would always feel the pain Ramsay had left upon her heart and mind. Some days were better than others- helping Jon to rule over all of the North helped keep her mind afloat, reminding her of all that was yet to be lost. Though she'd lost nearly everything... There were still a few things left. A few very precious things.

And one of those was knocking heavily upon her door. 

It was as she rolled over onto her side that the door to her chamber burst open and Jon stepped over the threshold, shutting the door in the maid's face who was protesting his entry. "Still abed, are you?" He said as he came to stand before her grand bed, dressed in dark breeches and a white overshirt that looked rumpled, as if he'd slept in it the night before. "The morning call came an hour ago already." Jon crossed the room and took hold of her curtains, pulling them apart so the morning, winter sunlight might spill into her chamber. "Come on then." 

A sigh escaped her as she rolled onto her other side and pushed herself up onto an elbow, looking out at him there beside her window. The morning sun illuminated him nicely, the golden rays bouncing off his dark curls in the most enticing of ways. "You are going to give poor Agatha a heart attack if you keep barging in here like that. She finds it most unseemly." A smile twitched on her lips as Jon's face broke out into a grin, his brown eyes finding hers as he approached her side of the bed. He silently gestured at the empty space on her bed, a silent question of his joining her, to which she nodded. He climbed onto the end of her bed as she drew her legs up to offer him a bit more space. 

"Unseemly?" Jon spoke with a chuckle as he settled into place, reaching up to run a hand through his dark curls, "I suppose she's right." Something unspoken fell between them and Sansa glanced his way, blue eyes finding brown. In the few weeks since their reunion, she and Jon certainly had developed a bond that they'd never had as kids. In truth, she'd been awful to him back then, taking for granted the relationship she had with her other siblings. Her true siblings as she might have said back then. But Sansa knew better now; she had grown as a person and knew that Jon was her family through and through. And in truth he was all she had left except for Arya. She had decided a long time ago that she would never again take her family for granted. "You look well this morning." His voice brought her back and Sansa returned her gaze to his face, where sure enough he was already looking at her. 

This had become their usual routine; Sansa couldn't say when it had first started, but it had been ongoing for a few weeks already. In the beginning he'd knock until she opened the door for him, but in the last few days he'd become so comfortable with her that he'd begun to just come in after a few knocks. Sansa also had to suspect that he enjoyed causing Agatha a bit of grief in the mornings. "I feel well," she admitted after a moment, absently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Truly." Jon's smile at her words brought one to her own features and she reached out, sliding her hand into place over his. Jon did not hesitate in turning his hand over, fingers clutching hers, surprising Sansa by the tender gesture. For a moment, neither of them spoke and Sansa could feel her heart racing fast within her chest. She was reminded of her first time meeting Joffrey, when a rush of excitement and anticipation had rushed through her, back before she knew who he truly had been. These feelings she'd begun to develop far exceeded that of a sibling bond. Confusion set in and she awkwardly drew her hand back, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair. "I should dress," she said, slipping off her bed, suddenly well aware of how thin her chemise was. 

Jon, sensing her attitude change, nodded and rose up from the bed as well, pausing only a moment to stand before her. "I am proud of you, Sansa," he whispered as his hands slid into place on either side of her face, palms cradling her cheeks as he drew her towards him for a simple kiss to her forehead. When he let her go, it took them both a moment longer to step back from the other, Sansa finding she longed for him to trace his fingertips across more than just her cheeks. Startled again by these new thoughts, it was she that took the first step back, smiling as he headed towards the door, disappearing behind it only after he'd raised his hand to give her a simple little wave. A moment later, Agatha entered looking distressed, grumbling about the new King in the North and his no regard for his sister's privacy, but Sansa was all smiles as her maid began to help her undress. She could not calm the racing of her heart nor the warmth of her skin from where his hands had once been; uncertain as she was, Sansa knew this was the first touch she'd had in years that she'd not trembled beneath the person reaching out. For the first time in years, she was not afraid of the person who touched her. Though these feelings were confusing, they had been built on trust and healing, so Sansa could not so easily let it go, no matter how unseemly someone thought it might be. In Jon, she had found peace and she would never allow someone to take that from her. 

With Jon, she felt safe again, and that was something she never thought she'd feel again. 


	8. Nightmares turned dreams.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a nightmare and Jon is her only comfort.

It was late when Jon heard the soft knock on his chamber door.

Surprise forced him to raise his head from his desk full of papers, dark eyes widening when the door opened and it was Sansa standing there. "Sansa," he breathed, their eyes meeting, her blue eyes full of suffering. "It's late, my love." At once he was on his feet, rising up so fast that he nearly upended the chair he'd been sitting in. He crossed the room to stand before her, reaching out a hand to tenderly touch her cheek, realizing then just how tired she looked. Had she not been sleeping? Jon cursed himself for not paying more mind to the woman he'd grown to love. "Are you alright?"

How did she tell him the truth behind what kept her awake? That despite the safety and comfort he provided for her, she felt terrified. That dreams of those who had hurt her still yet haunted her dreams, that visions of her father's death still yet swam through her memories. The last few years of her life had been nothing but abuse and anguish, a life so unlike the one she had sought for herself. She tried to remain strong, she tried to fight back against the demons that plagued her, but sometimes... Sometimes in the darkness of night, she lost against the pain. This was one of those nights. 

The dream in particular had been awful; one of Ramsay and his violent eyes, of his hands on her body. A shudder raced the length of her spine at the mere memory of it and though she told herself that Ramsay was dead and gone, unable to hurt her any longer, she could not help but to tremble. He had hurt her in ways she could not explain... Had destroyed her utterly, from her mind to her body and even her very soul. "I just couldn't sleep," she finally spoke, adverting her eyes, pushing past him to stand beside his desk, littered with papers involving the state of affairs within the new realm. Sometimes it was strange to remember Jon was not just Jon anymore, but rather the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Well, six, she reminded herself, for did she not hold the power of the North herself now? A faint smile crossed her features as she looked back up to him, though it vanished at the sight of his face. "I'm still not a very good liar, am I?" She asked with a heavy sigh, to which Jon shook his head, coming towards her with open arms. Sansa buried herself against his chest, the warmth of his body offering her more comfort than any of his words ever could. 

"No love, you're not," Jon chuckled at her expense, drawing her towards his bed and settling her down beside him on its edge. "Tell me." His soft command was enough to get her speaking, spilling to him the dark details of the nightmare she'd had. Jon knew her better than anyone else and he knew this was what she needed. She needed someone to unload upon, someone to hear her fears. She needed someone to protect her. Jon still yet cursed himself for not being there to protect her, for allowing her to ever fall prey to abuse at the hands of another man- her suffering should have ended with Joffrey, but she was sold to a madman instead, and Jon could scarcely think of what that brute Bolton had done to her. "It was just a dream, sweeting." Jon said when she had finished speaking, gripping her hands gently with his own. He wished he could protect her from the nightmares, from the pain of all she had suffered... But he could not. All he could do in a moment such as this was offer her comfort and love. "You know I would never let someone harm you, don't you?" He reached up, hand beneath her chin, drawing her sweet face up to look at him. "I will always protect you, Sansa." That was a promise he had made to her many months ago, the day of their first reunion, when Brienne of Tarth had brought her to him at Castle Black. Jon never would forget the way she had looked that day, so small and pale, draped in a black cloak that she had trembled beneath. In that moment, Jon had felt an anger like never before, but it was gone, soon replaced by the shame of knowing he had failed to protect her. 

A small smile curved her lips upward, her blue eyes darkening as she gave a single nod, allowing for him to yet again draw her towards his chest. After a few moments, he pulled her back against the pillows, leaning over her; with slow hands, Jon undressed her, palms tracing the outline of her body, stopping only once he got to her hips. Beneath his gaze, Sansa could not help but to smile again, knowing what he said was true, he would always protect her. He would always take care of her. Jon's mouth was then upon hers, a gentle kiss that was still enough to take her breath away. But then he was pulling away, trailing the softest of kisses from her mouth down her neck and towards her collarbone, stopping only when he came to the small, white line of a scar. Sansa slid her hands into his hair as he brushed his lips against the scar, his cheek pressed to her breast, her heart beating wildly against his skin. When he raised his face back up, it was to look in her beautiful blue eyes and know he was the luckiest man in all of the world. 

Much later that night, Sansa was tucked beneath his arm, her red hair a stark contrast to the pure white sheets of his bed. She slept soundly there beside him, perhaps for the first time in a week or more, and for that he was thankful. Though he had left his work unfinished, there was nothing more important to him than the young woman asleep in his bed. Leaning over her, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before settling into place beside her, smiling when she turned closer to him, face buried into the crook of his arm. Jon closed his eyes and breathed in her sweet scent, hoping as he drifted off that her dreams would finally be as sweet as his own. 


	9. Fix it Fic 1 - After the feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first of many "fix it fics"

_She's not the girl you grew up with. Not after what she's seen. Not after what they've done to her._

He knows, he knows, he knows. 

He wants to rail at her, he wants to tell her the truth. But standing there in his fire lit chamber, drunk, Jon knows it won't help. It won't change anything except maybe cause more damage. Whoever said to fight fire with fire was wrong- this dragon queen could not be fought with fire. Looking into Daenerys' eyes, Jon knows the truth in her hardened heart long before she utters another word. 

When she's gone, he sinks back onto his bed, face in hands. It's only a few short minutes later that he hears the soft knock to his chamber door- surprising him. Daenerys had long since stopped knocking, assuming her position as queen and his one time lover gave her the right to do so- so he assumes it's Sam or even Arya come to call. He rises up from where he sits and crosses the room, pulling the door open to face his new visitor. It's neither Sam nor Arya standing there. "Sansa." Her name is like a plea upon his lips, relief rushing through him at the sight of her sapphire eyes and gentle smile. Somehow, she knew he needed her, and so there she stood. 

"Can I come in?" She asks with a tilt of her head, as if she's trying to look into his rooms, to assure herself he's alone. Jon nods and steps aside, allowing her to pass into the room as he closes the door, something telling him to click the lock into place before he turns back around to face her. She stands at the center of the room, the fire framing her from behind, the golden light bouncing off her red hair like a crown. For a moment, he wishes things were back to how they had been before he had ever left for Dragonstone, before he had ever brought Daenerys here. "I was worried about you, Tormund said you were pretty drunk," her voice tugs him from his thoughts and he looks up at her face, wondering if she knew just how beautiful she was. "I thought I might come to make sure you got into bed. You need to rest." She takes a single step closer to where he stands, her lovely scaled dress catching the light when she moves. 

Jon doesn't speak but rather reaches out a hand to stroke her cheek- her skin is soft beneath his fingertips- down to her jaw, stopping only when he realizes he longs to trace the outline of her rosy lips. "Sansa..." He drops his hand, his drunken mind realizing perhaps that was not what she wanted him to do. But, to his surprise she's reaching for his hand, drawing it back to place against her cheek, those same lips curving in the softest of smiles. 

They've been here before, of course, time after time. He's reminded of the night before he left for Dragonstone, where he had gone to her rooms and kissed her, a moment he's held onto all these weeks. He's reminded of all the nights she climbed into his bed here at Winterfell and back at Castle Black when she had relentless nightmares. Those long nights he would tuck her in close to himself, holding her as she cried softly into his pillow. "I'm selfish." She speaks suddenly, yet again bringing him free from his thoughts as her hand slides into place over his. "I didn't want to go back to my rooms alone... Everyone else..." She trails off, a crimson blush staining her cheeks as she looks down at her feet. "Everyone else seemed to have someone to go to bed with." On this night when they all had come out as survivors, it felt like everyone in the castle had someone to spend their night with. She had even seen Arya sneaking off with Gendry. Everyone had someone... Everyone but her. "I was afraid of being lonely, so I came here..." She admits softly, finally finding the courage to look back up at him, their eyes meeting. Where else was she to go, after all?

He leans in, he's so close he can almost capture her mouth with his. He's so close, he can feel the warmth of her breath when she slowly exhales, blue eyes staring deep into his own brown ones. "I'm glad you came." He says softly, his hand sliding further up into her hair as he kisses her, a long sweet kiss that steals the breath from her lungs and the strength from her knees. Jon can feel her when she clings to the front of his leather jerkin, can feel when she slips closer still, their bodies pressed together as if they had always been meant to be that way. "You never have to go." He speaks when he breaks the kiss a few moments later, his other hand slipping around to press against the small of her back. 

As if these are the words she's always been waiting for, she's the one who leans in then, kissing him like she's never done before. It's a hungry kiss, yet vulnerable all the same. Jon holds fast to her, knowing there was no where he would ever want to go without her, knowing there was no where else he would ever rather be than right there, right then. The fight for morning light had come and they had won, why should they not find happiness for themselves? 

It's a moment later that Jon is tugging her by the hand towards his bed, stopping her at the edge so he can turn her around, hands slowly unlacing the back of her scaled gown. She lets it slip from her shoulders before she turns back to face him, shy and blushing as she lets it drop to the floor. Standing there in just her chemise, Jon's breath catches, the outline of her body beneath the thin material a sight he's not prepared for. She's biting her lower lip then and Jon lets out the breath he's been holding when she reaches for him, pulling on the laces of his jerkin until it's loose enough for him to pull off. He pulls his own shirt over his head and it's only then that he guides her back onto the bed, climbing in over her as he leans in to kiss her again.

He runs his hands along the length of her body, stopping only at her hip which he grabs hold of beneath her chemise. That same hand then slips beneath the hem of her chemise, his hand against her bare skin as it runs up her body this time. Beneath his touch, she shudders, chills racing her spine as his tongue meets hers. Jon lifts himself up from her then, looking down into her blue eyes for a long moment before he reaches for the hem of her shift, his gaze a silently posed question. She nods. Slowly, giving her time to stop him if she wished, he pulls the chemise up and over her head, tossing it to the floor where her dress already lay. 

For a long moment, Jon can do nothing but look at her, his eyes drinking in the sight of her body beneath him. He's twinged with sadness as his hand grazes a scar on her collarbone, inflicted by a blade of some kind and he knows it's from Ramsay. Now that he's this close, he can see she's littered with dozens of small, white scars, faded with time but a permanent reminder of all the abuse she's ever suffered. Beneath his gaze, she blushes, hugging her arms against her chest as if she's embarrassed by what she knows he can see. But, Jon gently pries her arms apart so he can lean down, brushing his lips against that first scar he'd seen, the one against her collarbone. 

One by one, he kisses every single scar he can find; her collarbone, her abdomen, her left hip... He can feel her hands in his hair when he finds one on her inner right thigh, another scar left behind by a blade, more proof of the injustice done to her here in her own home. Watching him, Sansa wonders if he knows there are tears gathered upon his lashes. He raises up from her legs and can't help but to kiss her, hoping with all of his being that she knows he would have done anything to take away the pain she had suffered at the hands of another man. Scars did not belong on her. "You're beautiful," he whispers, because he needs her to know, he needs her to know that these scars did not change her, did not take away from the beauty she was. 

Beneath him, she smiles. 

Later, much later in fact, Jon wakes beside her. The fire has nearly gone out, casting the room into shadow and cold, but he's warm with her tucked up against him. Propping himself up onto an elbow, he peers down at her fast asleep against his pillow, red hair a fan beneath her head. Jon can't help but to smile at the sight of her. In all of his life, he never expected to find himself in bed with a woman he loved so ardently, and he wonders for a moment if this can even be real. But then he touches his neck, absently rubbing the bruise she gave him a few hours before and remembers it was more real than anything else ever had been. He chuckles, shaking his head as he gently brushes a stray lock of hair from her forehead, knowing that this was the future he's always been looking for. 

And though he wants nothing else but to wake her from her slumber, he lays down beside her again, slipping his arms around her so he might pull her closer. All he wants is to stay right there with her forever. 

Just the night before, he had been fighting for the morning light, now he wishes it would never come. 


	10. Fix it Fic 2 - Dany doesn't destroy Kings Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another fix it fic.

The morning is cold and the wind is biting as she steps out into the courtyard. 

Winterfell is eeriely quiet for a castle that is supposed to be preparing to leave for a war and as Daenerys glances around, she notes there is almost nobody about. She's just about to turn to return inside when she catches sight of Jon; he's coming down the stairs from the battlements, Sansa right behind him. From within Winterfell, the youngest of the Stark girls comes, her ever present frown hiding a smirk as she approaches. 

It takes her only a moment to realize something is wrong. 

"Jon, are the armies prepared?" She adopts her usual tone, violet eyes narrowing as they fall upon the man she thought loved her. Jon stands before her and Sansa hovers close beside him, her red hair a vibrant contrast to the black furs draped across her shoulders. "You are to leave for King's Landing, do not forget what you promised to me." She goes on, flicking her gaze to the Lady of Winterfell, a reminder of who controls the situation. But, as always, Sansa Stark does not falter, but rather smiles. Beside her, the younger sister's hand strays to her sword's hilt and for the first time, Daenerys feels a flicker of fear. 

"We must talk before departing," Jon says casually, gesturing for Daenerys to return inside Winterfell. For a moment, she thinks she might not, but remembers that she is queen and she is a dragon, so there is nothing to fear. 

The small group files back into Winterfell and down the hall towards the great hall, where Sansa's woman knight stands outside the door. Brienne of Tarth barely spares her a glance before she opens the door for their group, coming inside after them and letting it swing closed behind her. As soon as Daenerys steps into the room, she knows trouble is brewing. The northern lords that remained alive after the long night stand at the back wall, silent and stone faced. Missandei stands off to one side of the room, her expression solemn and never changing even when they meet gazes. Grey Worm stands behind the head table, which Sansa and Jon have seated themselves, leaving Daenerys to stand there before them. It's only then that she notices the shackles at his wrists. "What is the meaning of this-"

"You stand accused of war crimes against the realm you claim to rule, this man willingly participated and has been treated as any war criminal would." Sansa Stark does not hesitate to speak and those sapphire blue eyes fall upon her own, sending chills down her spine. "Do not think I won't have you placed into chains, as well." 

"How dare you," Daenerys seethes, white hot rage surging through her. "I am your queen, you dare speak to me this way? I have been quite tolerant of your behavior Lady Stark, but I will not stand for this." She cannot believe this girl dares to defy her in such a way. She cannot believe Jon has condoned it. Daenerys turns her eyes to Jon and his expression is unreadable, that solemn look in his Stark colored eyes mimicked in the girl that stands over his shoulder. "I am your queen," she says again, as if this is enough. 

"You are not," says the monotone voice of the wheelchair bound boy that sits to Jon's other side. Daenerys had not even noticed his presence until now, until he spoke aloud. She pins him with her gaze and like his older sister, Bran Stark does not waver. 

"What did you say?" Daenerys spits out through gritted teeth, her heart races faster than ever before. 

"You are not the true heir to the Iron Throne," Bran goes on in that same tone, his hands folding atop the table. "But you already knew that." He's right, she's known that since the night Jon had told her. "The Iron Throne is not yours to take." 

"It is a queen's duty to protect her realm, you have not done that." Sansa intones, bringing Daenerys' attention back to her, rather than Bran. "Your duty is to us, to your people, but you would subject us to death all to lay claim to a throne you do not deserve." She tilts her head, red hair falling across a shoulder as her lips curve with a faint smirk. "A queen should choose love, but you chose fear." Daenerys recalls those words she had said to Jon only nights before, words he'd in turn spoken to Sansa. "The North cannot allow you to lay siege to King's Landing, nor claim the throne." Sansa is speaking again, bring Daenerys back from her whirling thoughts. "You will be taken to King's Landing as a prisoner of the North and we will negotiate with Cersei Lannister over what to do with you." There was only one person in that room that would know what would happen to Cersei Lannister in the coming weeks, long before they could arrive with their Targaryen prisoner, but now was not the time to speak of it. "Take her to her rooms," Sansa speaks sharply, nodding to the two guards that stand against the opposite wall, waiting for her word. "There you will stay until we leave for King's Landing." 

Daenerys looks back only once, but they've already all turned their backs to her and she knows she's lost. 

[ x x x ]

When they arrive in King's Landing, it's quiet. 

The city has plunged into mourning for their late queen, though there's few that truly mourn the loss of Cersei Lannister. She's buried alongside her children and the people await the news of who will take the throne next. 

It doesn't take long for the rumors begin to flow; whispers of a true born Targaryen son, a dragon born with the blood of a wolf, filter through the city within days of their arrival. The people of Westeros recall what it was like to live beneath the rule of a Targaryen, but this Targaryen son is quite unlike those who came before him. And there were of course the whispers about the red wolf, the she wolf of Winterfell, come back to King's Landing after all these years. Whispers told these people that their next ruler would not be one, but two, a ruling couple born of dragons and wolves. 

And one half of that duo took to the stairs, following the corridors until she came to a room with a single guard posted at the door. The man gave a single nod to the young woman, knowing well that within the coming weeks he would more than likely be referring to her as queen. 

Sansa pushes open the door and steps inside, allowing it to swing closed behind her. 

Daenerys stands at the window, looking out across King's Landing, the view quite pretty this time of day. "Am I to call you _your grace_, now?" Her voice is lacking its usual tone and Sansa shakes her head only once the silver-haired woman turns around. "Where are my dragons?" She asks, the thought of her children the only thing able to still yet squeeze the breath from her lungs. 

"They are safe." Sansa replies, though she knows there is little way to tame Drogon. Rhaegal is Jon's, but Drogon is a constant worry. "Drogon was seen flyng East only days ago and Rhaegal is here, with Jon." In truth, the dragon was down in the dragon pits most days- he was well behaved, for a dragon she supposed. "I have come to tell you there will be no trial for you." Daenerys looks up then, something like fear flickering across her features. "You are to be sent back to Dragonstone. You will be kept by guards of our own choosing. You will be closely monitored at all times." They have discussed her fate at length and in the end, no matter what she had done, Sansa couldn't let them execute her. Besides, in the case of Drogon... They needed her alive. "You will have no army, no dragons. Grey Worm will remain here and Missandei will stay at your side." Daenerys can't help but to feel a rush of relief at those words. "You will never be queen, but you will live." 

She supposes she'll have to live with that. 


	11. A Sansa and Dany moment.... Sort of.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa teaches Daenerys to sew & they have a "bonding" moment together.

  
"The mother of dragons, my lady." 

The announcement of the Targaryen queen to her own personal chambers surprised her, but Sansa kept her face passive as the door opened and she walked in. Though she knew it was proper and courteous to rise for her arrival, Sansa remained settled in her chair, yards of fabric draped over her legs. "Your grace," she greeted with a cool smile, settling her blue eyes upon the young woman. She wasn't much older than Sansa herself, but her beauty was far beyond hers. Sansa could not stop the fresh wave of jealousy towards her; she would never know what it was like to be so beautiful, so small and delicate, like the petals of a winter rose. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" She tried to do her part of making the dragon queen feel welcome, but she could not forget what Jon had whispered to her the day of their arrival. _Believe in me,_ he had whispered, his breath warm against the shell of her ear, reminding her of the night they'd spent alone before he had left for Dragonstone. They'd not had much time together since Jon had returned, bringing with him this beautiful queen, and Sansa could not help but to feel somewhat put off by him. She knew what was at stake here and she hated herself for her damn jealousy, but hard as she tried, she could not shake it. 

"I should like to be friends, Lady Stark." Daenerys spoke, her command of their language as if she'd been born speaking it, though her accent was misplaced among the Northerners. "I have been told quite a deal about you, though we've not yet had a chance to truly meet beyond our first meeting." In truth, it was Tyrion that was pushing her to befriend the Lady Sansa Stark. Shameful as it was to admit, Daenerys could not help but to feel jealousy towards the young woman. She was beautiful- tall and thin like a willow tree, with long red hair that must have felt like silk. And perhaps Jon did not realize it, but she could see how he looked at her, at this half sister of his. It was the way she wished he would look at her. It was true, they had spent a night together before coming to Winterfell, but looking back... It had not felt the way coupling had felt with men prior. Daenerys hadn't been able to place the strange feel to it, but perhaps now she was beginning to understand... But, she'd not come to Lady Stark's chambers to mope about her brother. No, she knew well now that the North backed this young woman. They would crown her Queen in the North without hesitation, as they had once crowned Jon. The Lords would not back her unless Sansa Stark said so. And so, she would have to befriend the eldest Stark child and hope in the end she would have her backing for the Iron Throne. 

"If it is Jon or Tyrion telling you things, I'm afraid you will be disappointed." Sansa said with a smile, carefully slipping her needle into the fabric she had been working on. It was lovely fabric, perhaps the nicest fabric she'd worked with yet. At first glance, it seemed black, but in the light it shined green and blue, much like the scales of a fish, and was textured as such. Just a few more stitches here and there and the gown would be complete, ready to be worn at the next meeting with the Lord's. "Jon gives me too much credit and Tyrion was always overly kind to me during our time together in King's Landing." She wondered if the imp had ever told this Daenerys Targaryen that they'd once been wed. 

Daenerys smiled, leaning forward on her elbows to carefully inspect the fabric Sansa had been sewing. "I think you should give yourself more credence, I have heard from many about you, even since arriving here." That was the truth. Yes, Tyrion had told her quite a bit her, about her abuse in King's Landing. Dany felt for the girl, truthfully she did. Were they both not products of a man's dark, cruel world? She knew little else, other than she'd been married to a man named Bolton, a bastard of a Northern lord, but Jon had went to war against him and thus reclaimed Winterfell in the name of the Starks. But, she knew little else. Looking into the young woman's eyes though, Dany could see she had suffered, that she had been abused far more than Tyrion had ever let on. In ways that no woman should ever suffer. In ways she herself had suffered, too. But more than all of that... Daenerys could tell how beloved she was to her people, to these Northerners. They spoke to her with respect beyond that of the King's sister, or the daughter of their previous Lord. They spoke to her with admiration in their eyes and bowed in her presence, as if she were a queen herself. And they did it of their own free will, these Northern men and lords. They adored Sansa Stark and from what she had collected, they had since the day of her birth. "This is lovely," she commented, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the fabric. "Jon told me you are quite good at sewing." Dany looked up and violet eyes met blue, Sansa's lips curving with the first glimpse of a true smile. 

"Thank you," she replied, giving in for just a moment, spreading the fabric of the dress out so the dragon queen could see its shape, its design. "My mother taught me... To sew, that is." Sansa smiled deeper, recalling those early days of her youth when her mother had first taught her to make those tiny, precise stitches. "Surely you must sew just as well, if not better than I." Sansa could not imagine a princess who could not sew, a queen that was not taught all of the womanly duties a future queen must know. 

To her surprise, Daenerys shook her head. "No, I never was taught." She admitted, running her hand along the scaled fabric. "My mother died just after my birth and after that I was with my brother." There had been no women in her young life to teach her such a thing. "Do you make all of your dresses?" She recalled the two dark gowns she'd seen the girl in thus far, both made in the Northern style, her furs elegant touches. Sansa nodded and to her surprise, blushed when Dany complimented her skills. "Truly, I do not think I could even make a stitch, let alone a gown." This earned her a little chuckle, surprising Dany yet again. Perhaps this would be easier than she thought... In all honesty, she found it easy to like Sansa, the girl was quite charming when she let down her guard. 

"I could teach you, if you'd like." Sansa said then, her blue eyes seeking out Dany's violet. "I have this lovely silk that would look nice with your hair," silk was a fabric far too thin to be useful in the North, especially during the long winter. And though she had once dreamed of wearing silk gowns and golden crowns, such dreams were long gone. She knew her duty to Jon, to ensuring this easily provoked queen felt welcomed and at ease in the North. At least for now, until the Night King was destroyed. But... Despite wanting to be cold and distant, Sansa could not help but to be charmed by the dragon queen. She was friendly enough, but her smile was easy-going and her strange colored eyes vibrant. Besides... Teaching her to sew would be a welcome change to the life she'd grown used to living; a life where war was all around them. For even an hour, she might pretend life was normal again. 

"I should like that," Dany said honestly, sitting up straighter in her chair. "It might be nice to talk of something other than war and strategy. To do something a normal woman might do." For a moment, Sansa was surprised by the queen's choice of words, but recovered a moment later, a smile taking place on her lips.

"First, I you must learn a basic stitch," Sansa said, rising up from her chair, carefully laying her almost completed dress across her bed. "I shall show you." She returned to her chair, pulling it closer to Daenerys', fishing in her sewing basket for a scrap of linen and a fresh needle. "Like this." She demonstrated by pumping the needle in and out of the fabric, leaving behind a neat little line of stitches. Handing the fabric across to Daenerys, she watched as she carefully tried to make the first stitch, but grimaced when she stuck her thumb instead. "Careful," Sansa giggled without remorse, reaching out to place Daenerys' hands to get a better angle. They worked at it together, talking over things like their childhood's and even their dreams left behind. Before long, Sansa was complimenting Daenerys' first line of neat little stitches, bringing a smile to her face. As she opened her mouth to speak, a knock sounded on the chamber door and Sansa raised her head towards it as she called out permission to enter. 

It was Jon there in her doorway, his dark eyes darting from one face to the other, his surprise at their close proximity evident. But Sansa was smiling upon him, unspoken words falling between them, a perfect understanding. "I've come to tell you supper is to be served." He recovered enough to speak, finally taking his eyes from Sansa to fall upon the dragon queen, who was smiling down at the sewing in her hands. For the first time since he'd met her, Daenerys looked like a normal woman. 

From behind him, Ser Davos appeared, always close by when he was needed most. Jon allowed him to step into the room at his side, his smile gallant as he offered his arm to the dragon queen. "Might I escort you, your grace?" Daenerys smiled back at him, rising up when Sansa had taken the sewing from her. With a nod, she put her hand to the older man's elbow, allowing him to steer her from the room only after bidding goodbye to the Stark siblings. 

The moment the door had closed, Jon turned to her, uncertain as to what to say. He knew how hard this had to be for Sansa... Giving up her home to this foreign queen after only just getting it back. He was proud of her, for all she had done so far. "You're teaching her to sew?" He asked, watching as she placed the fabric squares back into the basket at her feet. "You looked like a pair of normal women." He went on as she rose up, coming to stand before him, her rosy lips curved with a smile. Jon could not stop himself from reaching for her, drawing her into a warm embrace. "Can we speak... Tonight?" He murmured against her hair, breathing in her sweet scent. He'd missed her more than words could ever explain. Since his return to Winterfell two days before, he'd yet to have a chance to sit and talk with her... And more. He longed to hold her as he had done the night before leaving for Dragonstone. "Tell me you will come to my rooms tonight." 

For a long moment, she allowed herself to grow warm in his arms. When Jon held her, she felt safe, a feeling she had once thought she'd never feel again. When he spoke, she could not help but to laugh, drawing back to peer into his face. "I will." She promised with a smile, taking his arm when he offered it to her a few moments later. They would make their way down to the great hall and have dinner, then she might spend some more time with this foreign queen, or perhaps see to some of the North's affairs. But then it was as she'd promised Jon, she'd visit his rooms that night, where they would finally have a chance to speak of all that had happened. Finally, they might catch one another up on all things the other had missed. And maybe... They might spend another night wrapped in each other's arms. 


	12. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jon & sansa share a goodbye before he leaves for king's landing.

He can't believe this might be the last time he sees her. 

They stand across from each other, neither speaking, though he can hear her ragged breaths as she tries not to cry. “Sansa...” He says her name for perhaps the tenth time, taking a single step forward, closing the gap between them. There’s so many things he wants to say to her._ I love you, I’ve always loved you._ Those are the words that come to him first. They’re on the tip of his tongue. 

“You promised to protect me,” she says softly, bringing him back from his mind. Her sapphire eyes cut him like glass, lips trembling as she offers him a small smile. “So come back to me or else... Or else father’s ghost will come back and murder you.” A laugh escapes him and he reaches for her then, drawing her into his embrace. Jon knew he should tell her the truth about him, about who he was... But for this moment, he didn’t want anything else to change. He wanted to be Jon Snow, hopelessly in love with his sister, wrong as that was. He wanted to feel the tremor of excitement he always felt when she was near, he wanted to feel the stabbing of loneliness whenever they parted. For even just one more night, things could be as they always were. 

But things were about to change, no matter how badly he wished they wouldn’t. 

“I’ll come back to you, I promise,” he vows, reaching to take her hands. They’re small and warm in his own. He’d have given anything to stay there with her forever, safe inside their home. “And Sansa... When I come back...” _When I come back, I’ll tell you everything._ He pauses, cut off by a knock on the door. It swings open a moment later and Jaime is standing there when Jon lets go of her hands. The man looks from face to face, perhaps startled to see them standing so close, but then again... He’d noticed their longing stares days ago. 

“My apologies, but we’re ready.” Jaime finally says before he’s gone, giving them one last moment together.

Jon turns back to face her and gone are her tears, instead replaced with a look of determination. “I have to go,” he whispers and she nods. Jon feels the brush of a body against his legs and there is Ghost, circling them until he finds a place beside her. She grips his hands one last time, relishing in the warmth of his skin... But then he slips away, disappearing out the doorway, leaving her there with Ghost at her side. The wolf whines and nudges her hand, the one that had just been holding onto Jon’s. 

“Let’s see him off, shall we?” She asks the wolf before taking a deep, steadying breath. Together they make their way down the corridor and she steps out onto the battlements, walking down the narrow walkway until she was overlooking the courtyard. Sansa recalled the last time she stood there to see him off, when he left for Dragonstone some months before. Back then she’d thought she’d never see him again, for what Stark had ever faired well against a Targaryen? But he had come back to her then and he would come back to her now. 

He was climbing onto his horse when he felt her gaze. 

Turning around, he could see her there on the battlements, red hair windswept as she raised her hand in a silent goodbye. He would commit to memory what she looked like right then and right there, with her rosy cheeks and trembling smile. Jon raised his own hand, reminiscent of the last time they had shared a silent goodbye. And then he turned away, riding off towards the battle that would truly change everything. 


	13. You're in Love with Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prompt i wrote from a prompt list, youre in love with her.

_You're in love with her?_

He flinches as if struck, adverting his eyes. Was he? Of course he was. How could he not be, after all? With her sunset hair and sapphire eyes... He was mad for her, in truth. He's known for a long time now. "You're in love with her." Daenerys repeats. This time it's not a question. Jon watches as the silver-haired woman's face softens as if she might cry but she's the mother of dragons, she would never cry. He wonders what she's thinking as she stares back at him with her wide violet eyes, eyes so unlike Sansa's. "I always knew you weren't truly mine." She admits then, softer still. The dragon queen turns away then, a smile on her rosy lips. For a long moment they stand in silence, her now focusing on the fire burning in the hearth, he on the outline of her profile. Finally, she turns back to him and gestures for him to go. "I will ride South in the morning. I still have a kingdom to reclaim." She says this as if he dares to disagree; he doesn't. There's nothing he cares for less, than who sits upon the Iron Throne. But even he knows the truth: they can never allow that. 

When he leaves Daenerys in her rooms, he seeks Sansas out; she's beneath the heart tree in the godswood, her head bowed and eyes closed. For a moment he dares not to disturb her tranquil trance, knowing for the first time in what was probably years did she feel even an ounce of peace. But upon his next step, a branch snaps under foot and she raises her head, the smile she offers him lighting up even her blue eyes. "Jon." She greets, gesturing for him to sit beside her. "I wondered where you had disappeared to," she had not seen him since the last council meeting that afternoon. 

"I had something to take care of," Jon recalls the hurt that had settled in Dany's eyes, but he could no longer hide the truth of his feelings. Not after all that had happened. "Daenerys says she's to ride for the South come morning." She focuses those beautiful eyes on his face, lips pursed in a small frown. "She says she's got a kingdom to claim." 

"I already sent a raven." Sansa replies without missing a beat, her frown vanishing as she leans forward. "You're a fool if you believe Cersei." She has said this at least a dozen times now. Jon chuckles, leaning forward to meet her, catching her cheeks between his palms. 

"A northern fool," he admits, recalling the last time he called himself such a title. "I love you," he goes on, lips brushing hers. It's the first time he's said such a thing aloud. She's blushing beneath his fingertips, bringing a grin to his face. He tips his forehead down to meet hers a moment before her mouth finds his and the feeling is incomparable to anything he's ever felt in all his life. When she draws back a few moments later, she's smiling and trying to still her racing heart. You're in love with her... Dany's words echoed in his thought as he stands and offers her his hand. She takes it readily and the moment she's on her feet, he tugs her into a warm embrace. Her soft words are like a tattoo against his skin.

_I love you too, you fool. _


	14. A wolf's lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon catches Sansa singing... Twice.

It was as he approached the door to her chambers that he heard it, the soft singing behind the wood. Jon could not help but to smile, his heart fluttering as he thought of her inside, softly singing to herself as she brushed Ghost or perhaps just stroked his white fur. Quietly as he could, he pushed the door open a crack, just so he could peak inside at her without her knowing. 

Sure enough, she was seated on the floor before the fire, black skirts gathered all around her as she brushed Ghost's thick fur. For a moment, he was plunged deep into a memory, one of her when they had been nothing but children... One of her brushing Lady and singing the same song she sang now. A childhood song he had heard Catelyn Stark singing to the younger children throughout the years. When he pulled himself free from the memory, Jon was grinning. It was only then that he slipped into the room, catching the door before it closed too loudly, though Ghost's keen ear tipped him off and a moment later the singing stopped as Sansa turned to see him there. "Don't stop on my account," he laughed as he dropped down to the floor beside her, reaching out to ruffle the fur she'd been so lovingly brushing. "I haven't heard you sing in years." 

Sansa's face broke out into a wide smile as she pushed his hand away, returning the brush to Ghost's fur, fixing what he had messed up. "I'm practicing," she admitted with a soft chuckle, leaning in as Jon's hand pressed against her curved belly. "My mother used to sing to us every night," she said quietly, tilting her head as she smiled through the memory. "I would hope someday they remember me singing to them, too." Her other hand slid into place over Jon's and beneath their palms, they both felt their child moving. A promise of what was to come. 

"They will," Jon assures her, leaning in to press a kiss against her temple. "Now, it's time to eat, don't you think?" He gets to his feet, extending out a hand for her to take. "Can you get up, sweetheart?" He teases, though he helps her onto her own feet with ease and she gives him a good natured hit to the arm for his words. Ghost prances around their feet as they make their way across the room and down towards the great hall, where they would share perhaps what would be the final supper without a babe to join them. 

[ x x x ]

This time as he approaches the rooms, he stops at the door, smiling faintly when he hears her voice coming from within. He opens the door an inch and sees her there at the window, cradling their newborn son, singing that same lullaby she'd once only sang to Ghost. The wolf laid at her feet, his great head resting upon his paws, though his eyes remained wide open. It was as if the wolf was truly listening to every word that Sansa sang. 

As he entered, she continued singing, her voice soft but strong as she sang their son to sleep. "He loves your singing," Jon said as she lay the babe in his cradle, her song coming to an end a moment before he spoke. "As I knew he would." She smiled and nodded, gently brushing her fingers along their son's soft, downy hair. "You will never believe what has been found in the woods today," she turned up to look at him then, surprise forcing a perfectly sculpted brow up. "Wolves." Her eyes widened and then she blinked, stepping away from the cradle, which Ghost had gone to lay beneath, as he'd begun to do from the day of the baby's birth. 

"Wolves?" She echoed, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her face. "Direwolves?" 

Jon nodded. "An entire pack. Half breeds, some, but a few true direwolves were spotted along the wall, well what's left of it that is. It would seem Nymeria has been busy." He watches as her face softens, her memory returning to the litter of wolves she and the others had raised and lost over the years. "The lone wolf dies..."

"But the pack survives." She smiles with a nod, falling into his arms as he reaches for her. The pack always survived. Always. 


	15. Sansa & Shae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in my world, Shae lives.   
enjoy Shae helping Sansa the morning of her coronation.

It's the morning of her coronation and what should be the happiest day of her life... And yet she wakes feeling unhappy, lonely even. There's no there to stand at her side, her family is all lost to her. Bran left behind in King's Landing and Arya sailing off to where the map's all stopped... And Jon... No, thinking of Jon was as painful as it was to think of Rickon and Robb, both dead to her now. 

She wakes the morning of her coronation with no one there but Shae, returned to her from her exile in Essos, driven there for her own safety years ago before the death of Joffrey. Though, her mind drifts to Brienne, the only other person in the world she has to stand at her side on this day of most importance. But no matter, she stills herself against the pain, for there within Winterfell she was strong. 

And so she wakes to the copper tub full of hot, steaming rose-scented water, to Shae already observing the laying out of the gown Sansa had stitched herself for this very day. "Your grace," Shae dips her a curtsy a moment later even though Sansa has told her she needn't bother and approaches the bed as the young queen to be swings her legs over the edge of her bed. She has only been back these few weeks since Sansa's return to Winterfell without her family, she had returned while she'd been traveling home in fact, but she already senses an unhappiness in her. It is a different sorrow than she had once felt in King's Landing, a new sort of loneliness that Shae desperately wishes to obsolve her of. Sansa has told her of her grief at parting with her only recently restored family, though the look in her eyes at the mention of her once bastard brother Jon was quite telling. And with very little effort, Shae had heard from no less than four maids and a kitchen woman that the two one time siblings were quite in love, though everyone else but them seemed to know. 

"I told you not to call me that when we're alone," the young woman grumbles as she rises up to her feet, slipping by Shae to stand at the steaming tub for a moment. She tugs her nightgown off over her head and shivers into the nearly scalding water, sinking in as deep as she dared while Shae approaches the tub. "Can I have-" she pauses as Shae extends a plate out to her, offering her the very things she was going to ask for. "Thank you," Sansa grins, shifting in the tub so she can take the plate from Shae, nibbling at the buttered bread first. She has to wonder how she's ever existed without Shae there beside her. 

She eats in silence until Shae comes to take the plate from her and another maid joins them, this one to wash the long length that is the queen's hair. "Hey, Shae..." She shifts her gaze out to where Shae stands over a trunk, rifling through it's contents for something. When Shae raises her brown gaze to Sansa's, she can't help but to smile. "You'll be there with me... Right?" She means there, at the throne, waiting for her when she's to sit for the first time. In another life, it might have been Jon waiting there for her... Or her mother or father... Any one of them... Her heart aches and she closes her eyes against the pain. 

"Of course, my lady," Shae murmurs, deferring back to what she had once called her in King's Landing.

When Sansa opens her eyes, it's to smile. 


	16. A revelation before a goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the truth of jon's parentage is revealed, much to the starkling's shock.

Bran's words echo in her ears, their meaning hanging between the four of them.

Her heart is racing, racing faster than it's done in all her life; she sways and before she can catch herself, she begins to fall. Both Jon and Arya reach for her, but he his quickest. He always is when it comes to her. His warm grip steadies her, holding her strong and upright though she longs to sink to the ground. "Stay with me," he says softly, his breath warm against her ear as he leans his head into hers, though his eyes flicker to the other two Stark children, Arya looking on with more worry than he'd seen since returning to Winterfell some days ago. 

"She's overtired," Bran's empty voice intones, to which Arya nods, her dark eyes flashing. There's so many things left unspoken between the four- words now nearly forgotten in the aftermath of Jon's confession. "Take her to her chambers," he goes on with a nod, gesturing for Jon to take his leave with Sansa. Their eyes meet and it's almost as if Bran knows the truth of him, of his very heart. Jon swallows but then nods, looking back to Arya just one last time, but she too nods and gestures for him to go on without her. And so then Jon hefts Sansa's body into his arms though she softly protests, insisting she can walk the short distance back inside. She gives up after a few moments, for truly all of her energy has been drained and its all she can do to keep her head upright. So instead she lays it against Jon's strong shoulder and allows him to carry her back towards their home. 

They go in silence, making their way back through the courtyard and into Winterfell. Some stop and stare, some even inquire after their beloved Lady, but Jon waves them away and continues on, stopping only when they arrive at the door to the Lord's chambers. He pushes the door open and enters, crossing the room to gently set her down onto her tightly made bed. Crossing the room, he pours her a cup of ale from the jug on her table and brings it back to her, pressing it into her hands. "Drink." He commands, watching her closely until she's taken one long drink from the cup. "How do you feel?" He asks, allowing himself to sink down onto the edge of her bed, suddenly feeling cold without the warmth of her body in his arms. He can't help but to be cross with himself for not noticing how tired she looked, for now that he inspected her closely she was pale and drawn. For days he's been consumed with placating Daenerys and fighting a war, he'd forgotten to pay mind to the girl he loved with his whole heart. 

"Better," she murmurs, taking another sip of the drink before he can tell her to. The ale is bitter, but not so bad as the ale he'd once given her at Castle Black. When their eyes meet, she wonders if he's thinking about that time, too. But why would he think back to a time like that with her? Jon has a new love he must think of always and that love wasn't her. Rather, it was an infuriatingly beautiful foreign queen with a temper like the dragons she called her children. It was a wonder she'd not burned down all of Winterfell in a rage. "You can go if you'd like." She finally says, drawing her eyes from his to stare down at the cup clutched between her hands. Looking him in the eye was just too painful. His steady, dark gaze cut her like glass and she swore he could see straight into her soul with his piercing stare. 

I don't want to go anywhere, the words are there on the tip of his tongue. He wants to tell her the truth more than anything. But he's so close now... He can't give in yet and risk it all. Not yet. In the morning they would ride South for King's Landing and then Dany would have her throne. And once she had it... Jon would be free. At least, he hoped he would be. "I'm leaving Ghost here with you," he replies instead, watching as her face lifts to look at him yet again. "The South is no place for a direwolf." He goes on with a slow smile, reaching out to touch her hand that's now curled atop her lap. "I'll feel better knowing he's here to watch over you." His hand is warm and comforting. 

For some reason, these words give her a flicker of hope, though it fades as he rises up from the edge of her bed. "Be safe," she says to the man she once called brother, her heart breaking into thousands of tiny pieces. Once, she'd felt ashamed by the growing feelings she had for Jon and for the ones she thought he returned. Now, with this revelation of his true parentage, it opened up the door for them to act upon such feelings... But he'd left for Dragonstone and come back with a pretty, silver-haired queen on his arm, and with such a perfect creature Sansa could not compete. For some reason, Jon loved her and she had to accept it no matter how much it hurt. 

Jon stood there a moment longer, comitting to memory the way her face looked as she stared up at him. Her sapphire eyes were dark with sadness and Jon knew he was the source of her pain. Though she worried incessently about the North and her family's safety, Jon knew he was a big source of her sorrow. _I'll make it up to you, I promise,_ he silently vows, before leaning over her and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. For a single moment, everything was as it always had been, and they were two half-siblings teetering on the edge of something dangerous. But then Jon straightened up and once again, was who he had been pretending to be since gaining Daenerys' trust. Soon... Soon it would be over. 

As he shuts the door behind him, Jon hears the sob catching in her throat, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to not turn back and take her into his arms. But he forced himself forwards, down the corridors to his own chambers, where for one final night he would sleep. Then, come morning he would indeed ride South with a queen he did not love, to fight for a throne he didn't think she deserved- but in the end, it was all for her... It was all for Sansa and for the North. 


	17. A future to look forward to.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can anyone tell im terrible at summaries?  
canon divergent / kind of a fix it fic.

It was hard to believe that winter was truly coming to an end.

Jon and his army had done as he'd promised... They had defeated the Night King and his white walkers. He had brought peace back to the Seven Kingdoms and thus been crowned King of them all. They had not spoken much of Daenerys in the days since the war had come to an end, since she'd retreated out of Winterfell and back to Dragonstone. There, she would remain with her child, her one remaining dragon, never again to be called Queen of anything. Mother of dragons she would always be, but after all she had fought for... She would never been Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

In some ways, Sansa felt for Daenerys... For were they both not women trapped in a world ruled by men? Had they both not been used and abused by men for their own gain? Had their circumstances been different, they might have been friends. But the one time Dragon Queen had spurned all those in the North, even Jon faced her wrath the night Bran told them the truth. That very night Daenerys had sailed away, back to her army which she had left at Dragonstone. And then... The war erupted with such a new ferocity that Sansa hadn't been certain it would not end until they were all dead. But thanks to Jaimie Lannister, who had turned against his sister and lover, they had won a decisive battle against Cersei. When they had taken back King's Landing and solidified their army with new troops, it was then that Daenerys had come for them.

But then something strange had happened... Her dragon Rhaegal had never bonded with a rider until he met Tyrion, the little imp that Sansa herself once called husband. A kind man with a fondness for drinking, it had been surprising to say the least when Rhaegal had allowed him to climb onto his great scaled back. With a dragon on their side, Jon's army had marched on until Daenerys and her men were pushed back away from King's Landing.

And that was when Viserion had appeared in the skies above King's Landing, his once creamy gold body turned to ice. Sansa could remember that day, could recall the fear she had felt looking up at the great dragons circling the sky above them. And then Jon had locked her away into dungeon, where she could be kept safe and away from the battle that raged outside the palace. For hours, no perhaps for even days she was trapped down there, surrounded by palace staff, only able to wait for news from the outside. Any moment could have been her very last...

But then Jon had appeared, haggard and broken, but alive. He had collapsed into her arms and had only enough strength to tell her the words she'd always longed to hear... We've won. And that day alone had been weeks before. Things had quickly begun to change after that moment, but such changes were welcome after the years and years of war and suffering. For the first time in many years there was hope in the world again.

"Sansa?"

The voice pulled her back from her thoughts and she turned, facing Jon with a smile. "You're going to catch a chill standing out here without a cloak," he admonished with a chuckle, reaching out to drape her fur lined cloak across her shoulders. Sansa tugged it closer around her, turning back to face out, her blue eyes drinking in the sight of the golden sunlight as it slowly melted the snow. "What are you thinking about?" Jon's voice coaxed her to turn back to him, blue eyes meeting brown, and it was his turn to offer her a grin. "You've been out here a while, is all."

"I'm just thinking back to all that has happened." She admitted as she turned away from him yet again, reaching out a gloved hand to touch the snow still yet settled on the railing in front of her. "Spring is coming." She commented then, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, recalling how just a few weeks ago she had been standing in the same spot, plotting her revenge against the man that had caused her so much grief. "I wasn't certain we would see it again." Jon stepped up, their shoulders brushing as he came to stand beside her, dark hair catching the morning sunlight. They had returned to Winterfell a few nights ago, arriving without the pomp of royalty which Jon continued to shy away from. King of the Seven Kingdoms or not, he was still just Jon to all that knew him. Jon had spoken to the men of the North, reminding them of the pledges he'd given to them and the ones they had given to him. He spoke with all the greatness of a King until he told them he would not be their King at all... But rather, they would be ruled by a Queen who still yet held the name Stark. There must always be a Stark at Winterfell, he had spoken those words to the Lords that night, a grin on his face when he'd turned to look at her. And then he crowned her a queen in her own right, breaking the North from his own Kingdom and giving her what he believed had been hers all along. She was, after all, the heir to the North.

"Nor was I," Jon admitted as he stared out across the courtyard, already bustling with the start of a busy day in Winterfell. Below them, Arya stood with Brienne, both deep in conversation, the small slip of a girl grinning as she listened to whatever it was that Brienne had to say. As she had long ago promised, Brienne had never once strayed from her side, following her from here to there, the first to bow to her as queen. "I was afraid we'd never again have a moment like this." Sansa turned to him then, blue eyes peering into his brown, a small smile twitching on her rosy lips. Reaching out before she could stop herself, she placed her hand over top his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And yet... Here we are." He had found himself longing for moments such as these with her; he enjoyed her company far beyond that of a cousin. During his meetings with advisers, with any Lord, he enjoyed seeing her there at his side. Hearing her speak with the wisdom of any man reminded him of all she had seen and all that she knew. Though some might have once regarded Sansa Stark as nothing more than an empty-headed girl, she was smart beyond her years. She was cunning and strategic, full of ideas that constantly surprised him. Even Jon himself had not given her enough credit and it had almost cost him everything. Now he regarded her in a different light, in a different way, and it was easy to see that so did everyone else.

"And yet you must return to King's Landing," she pouted, her clear blue eyes reflecting the depth of her unhappiness. "We've only just found peace but you must leave us." She could not help but to feel unhappy knowing that Jon would have to leave. King's Landing was always home to the King of the Iron Throne, no matter the King. Suddenly, she was plunged into something deeper than the longing to be with a brother or a cousin. The sadness that clung to her was like the snow that still yet clung to the tree tops. Turning away from Jon, she hoped to hide her face from his eyes, not wanting him to see just how badly it affected her. She had only just managed to pull the pieces of her broken family back together... And now it would be broken yet again.

It was Jon's turn to reach out- his gloved hand lightly cupped her cheek, drawing her back to face him, his brown eyes gleaming in the sunlight. Like Sansa, he too felt the cold drift of sorrow at the thought of leaving both her and Winterfell. If he could have it his way, he might never have left his home again. But, whether he liked it or not, he had a duty to his Kingdom. "Come with me." The words left his lips before he could stop them, surprising the both of them. Emboldened by his slip, Jon chuckled, trailing his fingertips along the outline of her jaw. "Come with me, Sansa." His tone changed, turning to one she'd never before heard and suddenly it was like they were like a flame, the heat of the moment laying siege to their hearts. With her cheeks as red as her hair, her mouth opened and the words that stammered from her lips brought a grin to his face. "Yes, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell," he echoed back the words she'd spoken, moving his hand up to brush a stray lock of that beautiful red hair from her forehead. "And a Stark there shall be. Bran and Arya shall be here of course, and you shall not be gone long. We will call it a peace mission among the new ruling houses of Westeros." His words brought a laugh from her lips and Jon found the sound to be like music. "Say you will come with me." He encouraged softly, leaning in, forehead pressed to hers, their lips hovering dangerously close to one another's. "Sansa, I need you."

Her heart was hammering hard within her chest, so very hard that she was certain Jon would hear it himself. She listened carefully to the words that he spoke, recognizing the look in his eyes as one she'd seen in her own in the last few weeks. He meant what he said, those words he'd spoken were straight from his own heart. And suddenly, suddenly the answer was there on the tip of her tongue, a smile curving on her lips. "Of course I'll come." She said, knowing it had been the answer all along. The only answer at all. It took only a moment longer for Jon's mouth to close over hers, lightly, almost hesitantly, and Sansa felt her heart turn over. She returned the kiss, arms slipping over his shoulders as his came around her waist, drawing her closer than ever before.

For how long they remained there together like that, tangled limbs and sweet kisses, Sansa did not know... But she did know that when they finally parted ways, she was left breathless. Jon was pink-cheeked and grinning, reaching up to run a hand through his black curls. And then he offered her his arm, as a courtier to a queen might do, and she could not help but to laugh as she linked hers with his. Together they made their way back inside, to where they might begin to make plans of returning to King's Landing, for it was as she had said.. Spring was coming and with it would come so many new and beautiful things.

Finally, a future they could look forward to.


	18. Like a phoenix.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another ramsay vs jon rewrite with more focus on what happens after.

It mattered not how many arrows Ramsay flung his way, Jon would not stop.

Every step that he took drew him closer to the monster that was his sister's captor, her living nightmare. He would never forgive Ramsay Bolton for what he had done to Sansa and the only thing he could think of was tearing him limb from fucking limb. 

And then anger like he had never felt before rushed through him, sending chills down his spine as his fist first connected with Ramsay's jaw. One hit, two hits, three... Soon Jon lost count of how many times he slammed his fists into Bolton's face, all he knew was his skin was becoming slick with the man's blood, his own knuckles beginning the dull ache of a deep set bruise. For several long moments (or perhaps years had gone by, Jon truly did not know) he pummeled the man that had broken Sansa almost beyond repair, the man that had stolen their home, beating him until Ramsay was almost unrecognizable. 

It was as he drew back for one final hit that something compelled Jon to raise his face, as if something told him there was something else he needed to see. And it was then that his eyes locked upon Sansa's beautiful face, her features twisted with grief and unease, her cheeks drained of color. But it was her eyes that told him everything... This was not his fight to finish.

Without a word, Jon got to his feet, stumbling towards her, but she was not looking at him anymore. As he came to stand beside her, he followed her line of sight to where Ramsay lay bleeding on the ground, wishing for a moment he might know what it was she was thinking. He opened his mouth, his every intention to speak her name but she turned on her heel and vanished through a doorway without a word to him or to anyone at all. Brienne of Tarth immediately went after her and though Jon wished to follow, he suddenly found himself staggering, the weight of his limbs almost too much for him to bear. As he fell, his last thought of was of her and everything he'd ever wanted to tell her.

[ x x x ]

When Sansa returned inside that night, she no longer felt the chill of winter. 

Rather, a fire spread through her, changing her, molding her into someone entirely new. Gone was the Sansa Stark she once was and in her place was this new Sansa that the world around her had created. Ending Ramsay's life had solidified her rise from the ashes of despair and she swore from that moment on, he would hold no more power over her. 

Returning to her rooms, Sansa was truly not surprised when she found her chamber to already be occupied, knowing Jon had shown quite the restraint in waiting this long to see her. Granted, she knew he'd been confined to his own set of rooms that day, ordered to bed to rest so he might recover from the battle. Already, whispers of his rise to King in the North circled Winterfell, sweeping out across the countryside too, the once proud words of their father in every Northern lord's mouth... There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. "Sansa..." he spoke her name softly as he turned around to face her, the dying flames in her fireplace bathing him in dancing light.

Hundreds of questions he wanted to ask her but now that she stood before him, he could not find his voice. The firelight cast her into shadow, its fading light unable to reach her across the room; in that moment, she was like a queen of ice, untouched by even a flame. He watched as she shed her cloak, draping it across a chair as she passed it by, coming to stand before him, her blue eyes piercing in the darkness. "I was worried... I sent to see how you faired and the maid said you were not in your rooms." Jon finally spoke, speaking to her the truth, having indeed sent an inquiry after just just half an hour before. She did not speak as she stared at him, so close to him that Jon could see every droplet of water that clung to her hair and dress. He found he longed to reach for her but kept his arms at his sides rather, clenching his hands into fists in an effort to keep them where they hung. "You went to see him." It was not a question but a statement. He spoke simply, his heart turning over at the way she flinched from his words, her pale cheeks flooding with color as she pushed past him to stand in front of the fire place, hands outstretched to warm them over the flames. 

"Yes." 

Her soft, but simple response came a few moments later and Jon turned around to focus on her standing there, shoulders curved ever so slightly inwards, hands still yet extended out, a single silver ring glittering on a slim finger. "He's dead." She spoke matter-of-factly, as if speaking of the weather, not a man's life. As Jon came to stand beside her, she turned to look his way, a guarded sort of smile curving her lips. When Jon did not speak, the smile vanished and she gave her head a little shake, turning back to face the fire with a small sigh. "You think I've done wrong, don't you?" She asked softly, hands suddenly twisting together, a helpless sort of look taking root in her eyes. It was then that she made to go, as if she meant to storm away from him, but Jon reached out and took hold of her wrist, preventing her from going far. "Let me go!" She hissed, trying to wrench her hand from his grasp, her heart aching within her very chest. "Let me go, Jon," her words were a whispered plea and Jon pulled her into a tight embrace, holding on even when she squirmed to free herself. He held on as she cried softly against his shoulder, feeling no guilt for the life she'd taken, but crying for the life that hers had become. Blood was blood when it stained your hands, Jon had learned that a long time ago. Claiming the life of someone who wronged you did not always alleviate the pain, but rather you traded one kind of pain for another. And so he spoke soft, comforting words against the shell of her ear as he stroked her hair, hoping he could offer to her even an ounce of comfort. 

When she finally drew back several minutes later, it was to sniff and wipe her eyes, looking embarrassed as she stammered through an apology. "There's no need." He finally spoke, reaching out himself to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. "You're wrong you know," he went on, his fingertips ghosting across her jawline, her lips parted ever so slightly as their eyes met. "I don't think you're wrong for killing Ramsay, I think you had every right. God knows I'd have done it myself... But I knew it was a choice you had to make for yourself." Jon had every intention of seeing to Bolton's trial and execution had Sansa not carried out the deed on her own. "If I was a better brother, I'd have warned you on what killing a man does to you, but part of me wanted you to do with him as you pleased." 

"In other words, you thought I was not capable." Sansa's words were not harsh, but they still stung a bit as Jon let his hand fall back to his side, surprised by her yet again. "I am not bothered by what I've done." Sansa was not a good liar and he could see that in the moment, she was telling him the complete and utter truth. She was unbothered by what she had just done, because in the depth of her heart she knew it was right. "Ramsay deserved everything he got after all he's done." She had done what she had done to ensure her own sanity, her own healing. In a world where Ramsay yet lived, she would never be safe. In a world where Ramsay went unpunished for his crimes against her, against her family, and against the North, she could never find peace. She had stained her hands with his blood to protect what once had been hers and all she had left. 

This was not the Sansa he'd once known. This was someone new, someone different from the sister he'd known as a child. And now... Now he understood that she was not like ice at all, but rather she was like a burning flame. No, even that was not enough to describe Sansa, in truth she was most certainly like a phoenix. Like the bird of legends past, she was born of light but grown from ashes, burning brightly when everyone thought she might fade out. No matter what was thrown her way, she would overcome, she would rise above. 

For Sansa was not a woman of snow and ice, but of fire and flame, born to rise again. 


	19. A promise kept.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a jonsa warm up piece that i ended up actually liking.

The tension in the room was thick and Jon wasn't so certain what he had stepped into. But he plunged on, looking from one woman to the other, their gazes steely but their mouths smiling all the same. Daenerys had a scheming sort of look in her eyes that he had seen time and time again in their short time together. Sansa on the other hand looked like it was taking every ounce of her self control not to speak out of turn. "I thought I might borrow the Lady of Winterfell, your grace." He finally spoke, looking from Sansa then back to Daenerys. "If you can spare her presence, of course." His grin returned and to his relief, the dragon queen's face relaxed before she gave a nod. Sansa was on his arm before he could speak, offering Daenerys a quick but pretty curtsy before she put her hand to his elbow. Jon steered her from the chambers that once belonged to her, knowing what it said about her to have given the best rooms to this visiting queen. A queen that Sansa knew very well could ruin them all. His own rooms were not far down the hall, rooms that once belonged to Robb and him as children. Now he stayed there alone. "You've outdone yourself preparing Winterfell for her arrival." Jon said as he opened the door to his chambers, allowing her to pass him by. "You've done better than I ever could have at being King." 

"Do not try to sway me with flattery, Jon." Sansa's tone was sharp and her eyes were even sharper; her piercing blue gaze was fixed on him and in that moment Jon realized what a force she had become. He could not help but to chuckle at her expense, reaching a hand up to run through his dark, unruly curls. "How could you do this?" Her expression softened then, but Jon wished she would have just stayed angry. Tears gathered on her lashes, threatening to spill down her cheeks, hand curling into a fist at her side. "This is our home. How could you bring her here?" One tear slipped free, streaking her cheek and Jon felt his hand twitch, suddenly wishing to wipe it away. "How could you give it to her so easily? Does Winterfell mean nothing to you?" With one final gut wrenching statement Sansa turned away, striding across the room to stand before the window, her back to him. "I trusted you to help me keep Winterfell safe and you... You just gave it away." Her voice was a thread, barely audible, but it broke Jon's heart. He had not been prepared for this reaction.

Crossing the room, he joined her at the window, looking out into the courtyard it overlooked, doing his best to find the words to say to her. To make her understand just why he had bent to Daenerys. To make her understand that this war for a throne would mean nothing if the Whitewalkers got to them first. "I did it for Winterfell." He said simply, shaking his head as he turned to look at her. "I did it for you. To protect you. Sansa, you don't know what's out there." She scoffed, as if she meant to interrupt but Jon shook his head again, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "There's something out there beyond man, Sansa." He put his other hand on her shoulder then, forcing her to look at him. "I can't protect you or Winterfell from what's coming without her dragons." Her expression changed then, as if she struggled with remaining angry, and he watched as the fight went out of her. She sagged against him then, face buried into his chest, her arms winding around him. Jon held fast to her, knowing how tired she must have been... All these long weeks running Winterfell alone, dealing with Littlefinger, the food shortage... So many things he knew he should have been there to help her through. But, he was back at her side and Jon would hold true to the promise he'd made her months ago when they had first reunited; he would always protect her. 


	20. I did it for you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i feel like this was a fix it fic request for episode 2.   
i literally saved it as "jonsa episode 2"   
so who knows.

_She doesnt need to be my friend, but i am her queen. If she can't respect me... _

His lip twitches just recalling those words, ever thankful for the interruption. Even now he seethes with anger, wishing with all his might to have set that bloody woman straight. He had assaulted men for saying less of her, after all. But Daenerys Targaryen was not so easily dismissed, so easily told off. He can't risk her fury, though he wishes he might. However, it seems things might begin to change now, after what Sam had told him the night before. 

A knock sounds on the door, tugging him free from his thoughts, and the door swings open. She comes through the doorway like a storm, swirling black skirts and ice cold eyes; but she softens as their eyes meet, red hair twisted back in an elaborate knot he wishes to undo. "Sansa," he says her name softly as she comes to stand before him, the firelight dancing across her skin. He wants to tell her, the truth is there on the tip of his tongue. "I missed you at dinner," he says instead. He always notices her absence. Always. 

"I had work to do." The truth was, the Lady of Winterfell thought if she missed a meal or two, it would provide more for her people. "The dragons ate ten more goats this afternoon," she says without prompting, reminding him of yet another of their growing problems. "We cannot feed them, Jon, surely you know this." He's reminded of her fury during the first council meeting and Daenerys' red hot stare. If she can't respect me... He gives his head a little shake. 

"You shouldn't provoke her," he says and watches her face twist with anger. 

"Me?" She laughs but the sound never reaches her eyes. "You are foolish, Jon." 

He knows this already. 

"You don't know what she's capable of," Jon watches as her face changes, anger replaced by surprise, a perfectly sculpted brow disappearing behind hair. "I brought her here to protect you, to protect the North." He wants so desperately for her to believe him. _Do you have no faith in me at all? **You know I do.**_ "But she won't stand for disrespect-"

"It is she that disrespects all of us- you included." Sansa snaps, cutting him off before he can finish. "Your dragon queen has doomed us all to starvation." Her sapphire eyes widen, the breath catching in her throat as Jon takes a single step closer to where she stands. He knows she's angry with him, he doesn't blame her, but he still wants to hold her. She fights him at first, struggling to wiggle free from his grasp, but he only holds on tighter. Finally he feels her yield, knees sinking beneath her as she grabs hold of him to remain upright. "How could you do this to me?" She whispers these words but she might have well yelled. He wishes she would have, it might have hurt less. Jon knows what this was doing to her and there it was again, the truth on the tip of his tongue. But he holds fast, knowing now was not the time. Not before the fight. 

"I did it for you," he pulls back to look her in the face; she's crying, but she doesn't even notice. "I promised I would protect you, didn't I?" She almost laughs, but it sounds like a sob. _She's not your sister..._ He reaches out a hand, ghosting his fingertips along the outline of her jaw. Did she even realize how beautiful he thought she was? And now... He shakes his head, hesitantly drawing his hand back. _She's not your sister,_ he tells himself again as her hand takes his, pulling it back to its place against her soft cheek. 

"Doomed us to starve should we actually win against the Night King? You did that for me?" She asks, the smallest of smiles blooming on her lips. “That was, by far, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” Jon knows her anger is fading, her trust returning. Even just a little. 

"You asked me to help you take back Winterfell," he reminds her, his hand reaching around to the back of her head, absently touching the mound of braids. "And as King, it was my job to protect the North and you... You are the North." He finishes and she's blushing beneath his fingertips. "I brought an army and dragons and even a foreign queen to protect you. I would do anything for you, surely you know that?" She looks up at him for a long moment, her blue eyes soft and red rimmed from crying. Gods, she was beautiful. "I know it doesn't make sense to you, but I swear it Sansa, I never meant to hurt you. I only did what I thought was best to serve you and the North." 

"This is the opposite of what I told you to do.” She replies but then she's in his arms yet again, face buried in his shoulder. It had been so long since they'd held each other this way but Jon had not yet forgotten what it felt like to have her in his arms. Jon chuckles, tucking his chin atop her head and breathes in her sweet, familiar scent. She's like a dream come to life.

A dream he hopes to never wake from. 


	21. Based on the trailer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the season 8 trailer.  
oh to go back to those days, before everything was ruined. n_n

He had been waiting for this moment for days.

As his feet stepped off the boat and into the snow, Jon felt at ease; finally, he was home again. Behind him, the others were gathering, Tyrion speaking to his queen in hushed undertones, perhaps offering the queen the names of those she would soon be introduced to. He could have been cursing them all, for all Jon cared, for there was nothing more important than seeing her. 

The gates of Winterfell opened and Jon pushed past the guards, his dark eyes searching for any sign of her in the crowd of those gathered to welcome him home. And then he saw her- she stood, wrapped in furs, with her vibrant hair loose around her shoulders, a beacon in the cold, winter morning. She stood strong and true, every inch the Northern queen she was born to be, a small smile brightening her features as their eyes met. "Sansa..." Her name fell from his lips a moment before he could catch himself and at once he was moving towards her, opening his arms as she took a single step forward. His arms came around her, an embrace warm and strong, not unlike the one they had shared months ago when she'd found him at Castle Black. For a moment, nothing else in all of the world mattered, for a moment, he could just hold her. But then he remembered himself and he knew he had to protect her from all that was to come. "Do not trust her," he whispered into her ear as he held on fast to the sister he'd almost lost, knowing he would never do anything to put her into danger. "Believe in me."

Over his shoulder, Sansa's piercing gaze flicked to the dragon queen, taking in the sight of her standing there in the snow; she was beautiful, as she'd heard she was, and Sansa thought back to what Jon had just told her. Do not trust her... Believe in me... This meant only one thing; that Jon already had a plan. And so she embraced him back, holding fast to the brother she had missed these weeks since he'd gone, letting go only when he pulled back from her. And then, she stepped up to the woman who was to be called Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and she offered her a charming sort of smile. "Welcome to Winterfell." 


	22. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a season 6 reunion piece. one of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first jonsa piece EVER. just in case anyone wondered where it began... it was right here. i wrote this in 2017.

She was numb.

Her whole body had lost its feeling long ago- and not just from the cold. Though Brienne had tried to light the warmth back inside of her, Sansa was fearful it would never again return. Though she clutched the furlined cloak close to her shoulders, the chill of the wintry air bit at her cheeks, her neck. Though she had long since dried off, she could still feel the sting of the ice cold water of the river she had crossed. Though her fears were left behind her, she could still feel the ghosts of his hands moving across her body...

"Lady Sansa?" 

She jumped, the sound of Brienne's voice breaking into her wandering mind. Sansa turned her head, peering across at the woman who had sworn to protect her. "We're just about there." Brienne raised a hand, pointing out at the top of a gate she could just see overhead the trees ahead of them. "Come." She kicked her horse back into movement and Sansa did the same, following after Brienne, lapsing back into the silence she'd grown so accustomed to. 

It was hard to imagine that after all this time she was finally going to be reunited with Jon, with her brother. In the time that had passed since she'd last seen him, in the time since everything bad had begun to happen, she had thought of her relationship with Jon. She had never treated him as he had deserved and she of course regretted that now. After everything that had happened, she had a different outlook on her life, on her ideals, on her family. And now, potentially Jon was the only one left besides her. They needed each other. She needed him. And she needed his forgiveness.

"Open the gates!" A man was calling out overhead as she and Brienne approached the gate, she feeling increasingly more sick to her stomach. She could not believe this moment was finally here. But now that it was... Why did she feel like running? "Who are you?" Another man spoke as the gate opened, revealing to them the inner workings of Castle Black, the home of the Night's Watch. The man was looking from Brienne to Sansa, the latter looking as if she'd fall off her horse at any given moment. 

"This is Lady Sansa Stark, we come seeking her brother, The Lord Commander Jon Snow." Brienne's tenor vocals rang out and the man blinked, before stepping back, allowing the two women on horseback to pass through the gates. They rode into the center of the courtyard, while most of the Night's men went on with their tasks- though some did have to stop and do a double take, as the presence of a woman within their walls was nearly unheard of. But to have two of them? Now that was unheard of. 

Sansa drew her horse to a stop behind Brienne, slipping herself down, giving herself a moment to take in her surroundings. It reminded her of home, in a strange sort of way. It reminded her of Jon. As she turned back around, she suddenly caught sight of him, there on the stairwell with men on his either side. There was only a split second before he noticed her, standing there beside her horse. He stared back at her, as if he wasn't certain of what he was seeing, as if he had seen a ghost. And then... Then he was on the move. 

Jon could not believe his eyes.

There she stood, in his own courtyard, looking pale and frightened. Even from such a distance, he could see the faded bruises on her face, could see the tension of her limbs beneath her cloak. What had happened to his sister? He nearly stumbled in his rush to reach her, rushing down the stairs to stand before her, drinking in the sight of her lovely face. How much time had passed? He could not believe that this young woman was Sansa, his own sister. But this was not the sister he recalled so well from childhood; this was a woman tainted by something unseen, this was a woman broken by the hands of men. He felt something rush through him, a twist of red hot anger and icy cold despair. Oh, just what had they done to her?

But then again, it didn't matter much, because now she was there and he could protect her from whatever was to come. 

Jon took a single step forward just as she came rushing into his arms, throwing herself at him while from her lips fell his whispered name. He embraced her so that he swept her off her feet, the chill of her body against his own drawing only more concern. "Sansa..." He murmured, his voice muffled against the crown of her head, gentling his grasp on her when he felt her tremble. As he settled her back onto her feet, he cupped her cheeks between his palms, gazing into her beautiful blue eyes that had filled with tears. His own were damp, threatening to spill over, and he closed them a moment. When he opened them again, she was still yet there and her lips had begun to curve into the smallest of smiles. He recalled then a moment from their childhood, when she had woven daisy crowns into her hair and called herself Queen Sansa, when her smile had been as radiant as the sun. Now, her smile was half-hearted, as if she'd forgotten what it was like to be happy. He made a silent vow, right then and there, to break whoever had broken her. A silent vow to bring back the smile he remembered so well.


	23. Sansa & Dany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i really enjoy writing these two women together, whether it be canon or canon divergent.   
just a random moment that would have come from episode 1.

The dragon queen's gaze was steady, but Sansa did not look away. 

Rather, it fueled her own to be stronger, enough so that it was Daenerys' who's lips twitched with a condescending sort of smile, glancing away from her for just a moment. "Winterfell is yours, Your Grace." Sansa spoke the words with a smile of her own, but her blue eyes did not waver in their deadly gaze, her true intent written all over her features. But perhaps the dragon queen did not know her well enough to realize, or perhaps she didn't care. Sansa already could see she would not like this woman, the sheer sight of her left her feeling somewhat revolted. Jealousy, she might have called it, though she could not quite understand it. This woman... Daenerys Targaryen... Had they both not lived lives not of their own making? Had they both not been used by men to get ahead? Sansa didn't know much of this woman, but she supposed she had to trust in Jon and hope he had not fallen for the queen's lovely looks. "You must be tired from your journey, please... Allow me to escort you to your rooms." Sansa spoke, bringing Daenerys' attention back to her. A smile fell into place upon her own lips and Sansa gestured for the queen to follow after her. 

When the others began to fall into step behind them, it was Tyrion that gestured for them to remain behind. In truth, though his loyalties may have lain with Daenerys, he could not help but to feel joy at seeing Sansa alive and well... As well as wondering what role she would play in the game now that Daenerys was at Winterfell. "They will get along marvelously." Tyrion spoke, gaze flitting to Brienne of Tarth who let out a breath hearing his words. "Or so we should all hope." The war that would rage if these two women did not get along would be the worst of them all. 

"Your chambers are just down here," Sansa glanced over her shoulder, once again meeting eyes with the dragon queen as they made their way through the halls of Winterfell. Throwing open the door, she encouraged Daenerys to enter first and then followed after her, allowing the door to then close behind her. "I hope they shall suffice." 

Daernerys could not help but to survey her surroundings; it was a spacious bedchamber, with a fire already burning in the fireplace just across the way. She ran her hands along the fur lined coverlet, one stitched with such precise stitches that she was truly amazed with the quality. In truth, such stitching seemed quite familiar to her... Turning back to the eldest Stark child, Daenerys could see what Tyrion had said of her was true. "It is as Tyrion says... You are both kind and beautiful." Daenerys spoke softly, tilting her silver-haired head ever so slightly. "Quite welcoming to someone you might truly consider your enemy." 

These were dangerous waters and so Sansa knew she had to trudge on carefully. She was reminded back to her times with Margaery, of how a friendship between two ladies might blossom. "Jon trusts you... And I trust Jon." Sansa finally spoke, offering words that were not quite a lie, but not quite the truth. "I have learned to not trust so easily, but Jon I will always trust." Their eyes met and for a moment, both women were silent, taking in the words that Sansa had just laid between them. "Please, don't make me regret my trust in Jon." She finally went on, saying the words she had truly wanted to say all along. Queen or no queen, Sansa would not allow this woman to destroy the family she had begun to piece back together. 

A smile graced Daenerys' lips and she realized again, Sansa was exactly as Tyrion had described her; kind, almost too a fault, but untrusting of most. She was as educated as any noble born man and smarter than most of them. _You would be wise to make a friend of Sansa Stark,_ Tyrion had warned her only the night before. The North will always stand behind her, even against you and your army. "I would like to be friends, Lady Stark." Daenerys again spoke in a soft, gentle tone, her brilliantly colored eyes widening slightly. They swept the Lady of Winterfell up and down and it was then that Daenerys realized just why the stitching on the bedding had seemed so familiar to her, it was of course the same as that on Jon's cloak and a few of his other belongings. And it mirrored that of the stitching of the dress Sansa wore, meaning it was her stitching. Daenerys felt warmth rush through her then, realizing only then that Jon wore clothing made with Sansa's own hands. Queen or not, that was not such a thing she could ever provide for him for she had never been taught to do such a thing. "I have not come here to be enemies." Daenerys went on, refocusing on what was important, not her growing feelings for the girl's bastard brother. 

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but the door to the chamber opened, distracting them both from their conversation. It was Jon that stepped into the room, grinning awkwardly as he looked from one woman to the other. He could feel there was a bit of tension within the room and he wondered if he'd come in at the worst possible time. "My pardon, your grace." He spoke then, looking at Daenerys with a grin. "I thought I might borrow the Lady of Winterfell, if you might spare her." The two women exchanged a quick glance, and then the dragon queen smiled, giving him a quick nod. And so Daenerys watched as the redhead dipped her a quick, but appropriate curtsy and then was on Jon's arm, allowing him to steer her from the chambers without so much as a backwards glance. Part of her wanted nothing more than to leave Winterfell right then and there, but she was better than that. She was not a normal woman, mere jealousy would not sway her. 

At least... She hoped. 


	24. Blue Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im pretty sure this was a prompt from Jonsa Week.

  
It was early morning and he had woken from a dream of spring. 

He'd been walking through the gardens of Winterfell abloom, the sun high in the clear blue sky. There, at the very center, had she stood, like a beacon calling out to him. A crown of wildflowers were woven like a crown on her head, petals falling down the light blue gown she wore. He loved that gown, even in the dream he knew that he did. Sansa... Her name had been on his lips, a familiar sound that offered him comfort even to his sleeping mind. She had smiled upon him in the dream, opening her arms to embrace him, her body warm and solid, a reminder of the waking world. He pulled a single blue rose free from its bush behind her, offering it to her, if only to watch her face light up with another smile. 

The moment Jon woke, he dressed, pulling on the cloak she'd painstakingly made for him before the long winter, the pads of his fingers brushing the direwolves stamped into the worn leather. Down the corridors he went, out into the courtyard, but his feet took him another path rather than to the stables or towards the godswood. Instead, he walked along the outer gate and into what once had been the gardens he'd dreamed of. Every inch of it was covered in a sheet of ice and yet he still could not help but to marvel at the beauty of it. The winter roses had once bloomed there in these very gardens, but then the true cold came and even wiped those away. Jon found himself longing to see the blue roses, to inhale their sweet scent, and to tuck one or two into beautiful red hair.

Spring was coming though so he supposed it'd not be long he would have to wait. Everyday they came a little bit closer. The snow had begun to melt beneath the warm winter sun and no longer did the cold snatch the breath from a man’s lungs. In truth it was becoming quite like it used to be, before the long winter had ever come.

He was reminded of his childhood winters, where he and his brothers would wrestle in the snow and laugh when Arya pelted them with snowballs. He remembered how it felt to throw an arm around Robb as they walked back to Winterfell, tired and out of breath, but happy just to be with him. It wasn’t all that long ago that he thought he would never again be as happy as he was then. Jon missed Robb terribly some days… So much so that it hurt. He missed Rickon too, the little brother that he had failed. He could not help but to think of what it would be like if they were still alive, or at least if Robb's wife and child had lived beyond the wedding feast. Would the child look like a Stark? Or even a Tully? Robb always had favored his mother looks, after all. Or would it have looked like its mother, a beauty they said, though foreign. And little Rickon... He'd be growing into a man now. Jon would have smiled upon him when he found his first love and maybe even married her someday. Shaggydog would play in the courtyard with Ghost and perhaps even Nymeria would have someday rejoined them with pups along with her. 

"Lost in thought, are you?"

Turning at the sound of a voice, Jon could not stop himself from smiling as his eyes fell upon her. She was bright-eyed in the morning sunlight, her red hair a stark contrast to her black cloak. "Thinking of our family." He admitted as she stepped closer, his own arms winding around her as she fell into place against him. For several long moments he held fast to her, breathing in her sweet scent, ever thankful that she was there for him to hold. "I miss them." She drew back then, a gloved hand reaching up to tenderly touch his cheek, her rosy lips torn between a frown and a smile. Of all people, she understood his pain. 

"As do I," she spoke softly, her voice catching as she too thought of the brothers left behind, of the mother and father she no longer had. "But we still have each other." She reminded him with a nod, her hand sliding down to press against his heart, the beat of it strong against her palm. "We have Arya and Bran." It was his turn to nod, his own hand coming up to catch hers. "Come... Arya was already talking about a sparring match." She rolled her eyes, but her smile was easy-going, those same eyes twinkling. Jon chuckled, his hand in hers as they made their way back towards Winterfell, where sure enough Arya already stood with Needle in hand. 

Sansa let his hand slip free from her own, watching as he strode confidently towards the girl he would always call little sister. She could not stop herself from smiling as she watched him pull her into a tight embrace, laughing at something she said. Across the way, Brienne stood beside Jaime, their shoulders brushing as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. For the first time in as long as she could remember, everything felt right. Everyone was happy, truly happy. Her family had been broken apart, nearly destroyed, but they had pulled the pieces back together and found happiness again. Soon, it would be spring and everything would be green and lush again, even the winter roses would bloom again soon. Jon had promised her the night before the battle with the Night King that he would bring them to her the day they bloomed again and she knew that day would come sooner than they all thought. 

And for that, she was oh so happy. 

[ x x x ]

When she woke a few days later, Sansa rolled onto her side and there on the table just across the way was a bouquet of beautiful blue roses. Her heart swelled and she rose up from the bed to stand before the table, gingerly brushing her fingertips across the delicate petals. Against the vase he'd put them in, a folded up parchment leaned, and she raised it up so she could read the words he'd written across it. 

_Spring is here. _

A smile touched her lips and she turned to the other wall, where her newest gown hung from a peg. Jon had brought her the bolt of fabric from King's Landing just weeks before, a beautiful pale blue silk she'd insisted was too much for her. But he'd grinned and said nothing was too much for her, for his queen. Queen... still yet the word tasted funny on her tongue. As a child, she'd dreamed of nothing but a crown of her own and now that it was hers it almost sounded wrong. Even so, she'd done as Jon had bid and made herself a new gown with the fabric, promising only to wear it when spring came again. As he'd promised to bring her the beautiful roses, she promised a gown, and so she dressed herself in the blue silk and braided her hair and pinned it into place as she did every morning. 

Making her way down to the main hall, she found him already there, as if waiting for her. He could barely catch his breath as he caught sight of her in the blue silk gown, her dark cloak draped over her arm and a radiant smile upon her face. "You're like a dream." He said as he approached her, his compliment sending a rush of heat to her cheeks. "Like a dream of spring." This time she laughed and swatted at him playfully. "You're missing something though," he admitted, drawing back to inspect her closely, his dark eyes finding hers as she frowned. From his cloak pocket, he pulled a single winter bloom and reached for her then, carefully tucking the rose into her hair, the color vibrant against the red. "There." He grinned before he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. "Now... You're perfect." 

Sansa smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but the door behind them opened and in came the first of the servants to bring in their morning meal. Soon, all of the others would begin to join them too. They only had a few more mornings together like this before things began to change, before Jon would be crowned King of the Iron Throne and she his queen. They would go to King's Landing for a time, but he promised they'd return to Winterfell as often as she pleased. No King before had lived anywhere but King's Landing, but this would be a new reign quite unlike any King before him.

Taking their seats at the head table, Sansa smiled as Arya came into the room, her dark-eyed little sister taking her place beside Jon. Bran came next, his spot on her other side. They were the last surviving Starks, the last three true born children of Eddard and Catelyn Stark and the one time bastard of Winterfell. Touching the flower Jon had tucked into her hair, she could not help but to smile. Their dream of spring had finally come true. 


	25. The wind howls like wolves.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have a weird obsession with wolves & wind when it comes to sansa / jonsa.

The howl of the wind sounds like wolves. 

She's haunted by it, each and every night, locked there in her room. In the darkness of the night, the still of the silence, she can hear them howling. They cry out to her from the other side, from a place she cannot yet reach, a place she's never been. Since the day Lady had died, she's heard her, she's felt her. And now, even now after all the time that's passed, she can hear them all.

It's Grey Wind, snapping his jaws, giving her the strength to stand against Ramsay Bolton. It's Nymeria, running wild and free, reminding her that her story isn't yet over. It's Summer, howling at the summer moon, offering her comfort in the light of the winter one. It's Shaggydog, barking as he runs loops around her, speaking to the innocence of life. When it's Lady, it's the soft feel of her fur, the only comfort she ever had in the long nights of torture, in the long days of war. And then it's Ghost too, but Ghost is more than a reminder of what she once had... He's a reminder of what she has left. 

Jon comes to her mind, though he's hardly far from it these days. She thinks of his dark, solemn eyes, of his wild and unruly curls, of his vow of protection. Even now, those days seem so long ago, when hope was something foreign to her. Back then when she could trust no one but herself, Jon had proved there was still good left in the world. Back then, when she thought she had nothing left to live for her, Jon gave her a new reason to live. They had fought for their home, for their family, and they had won. Jon had given her hope and such a thing she could never repay him for. 

In the darkness of her room, she turns to face him there in her bed, fast asleep, wondering if he knew just what he had done for her. She can't help but to reach for him, gently tracing her fingers along the outline of his lips and down his jaw. He sleeps soundly, unaware that she remains awake beside him, but she's happiest this way sometimes. At the side of their bed, Ghost sleeps just as soundly. Outside, she hears a storm as it begins to rage and her heart begins to flutter.

The howl of the wind sounds like wolves, even now.


	26. Don't Go

Warmth was looking at her, bathed in moonlight spilling in through his open curtains. Love was the soft touch of her lips to his, or the gentle grip of her hand in his. Love was knowing she had changed him, heart and soul. She had come to him when he was ready to give in, when he was ready to turn his back to everything he had ever known and loved. He may have been resurrected by the red witch, but it had been Sansa to bring him back to life. She was the one who taught him to feel once more, she was the one to remind him that there was still something yet to live for. He couldn't quite say when things changed, but one day... One day he felt something new for her that nothing could ever make him deny. 

"I don't want you to go," her voice draws him back from his mind and Jon leans over her, laying there beside him in his bed. Her blue eyes peer up at him, seeing straight through him as they always did. "Stay with me." 

Without a word, Jon moves down to kiss her, one hand slipping beneath the covers to press against her chest, to feel her heart beat into his palm. "You know I have to go," he says softly when he draws back, hating himself for the tears that fill her beautiful eyes. "I will do whatever it takes to protect the North... To protect you." It was true, the North was Sansa and Sansa was the North. They were one and the same. With her, he found safety, with her he had found his home. 

"I'm afraid for you," she whispers against his chest a moment later, when he's laid down beside her and opened his arms to her. "I keep dreaming of dragon fire." She's afraid that when he leaves for Dragonstone in the morning, he won't return to her. Sansa knows what this alliance with Daenerys Targaryen will do for them, for the North, but she can't help but want to be selfish and keep Jon there with her. Thinking of him sailing away from her, to a foreign queen's castle, a queen rumored to be on the wrong side of the Targaryen coin... It frightened her. 

"I swear to you I will return." Jon vows in the darkness. "I will come home and I will defeat the Night King. I will keep you and our home safe." He presses his lips to her temple, to her cheek, down her jaw... Unti finally they fall upon her lips, a soft kiss he hopes says more than his words ever would. "And when it's all over... I want to be at your side. For the rest of my life, I want to stand beside you." A tear slips free from her closed eyes and Jon catches it with his mouth, kissing away any evidence of it. "Believe in me." 

She nods, of course she believes in him. She always would. Her belief in him was unwavering, even in the darkest of moments. Even when they were at the end of their rope, Sansa would go on believing in him. "At least... Stay tonight." She means for him to stay there in bed with her, if only for one last night.

To that he would always oblige. 

"There's no where else I'd want to be." 


	27. I'll keep you warm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another season 6 reunion rewrite.

The cry from the guard tower compels him out of the room, away from the angry words he and Edd have only just exchanged. With Longclaw in his hand, he steps away from Edd and pushes out the door onto the top of the stairs that lead down to the center courtyard. It's begun to snow again, harder than ever before, the temperature gone down so much that even just to breathe in causes an ache in your chest. Jon blinks, staring out at the three riders that have ridden through the gate of Castle Black.

He dares not believe it is who he thinks it is. He cannot begin to believe it's her that now slides down from the saddle, the thinnest of cloaks wrapped around her shoulders. But that vivid red hair... He would know it anywhere, even now, so many years later. The breath catches in his throat when she turns, finally catching sight of him there on the top of the stairs. Her sapphire eyes are piercing, even from such a distance, and Jon is compelled to throw Longclaw into Edd's hands and begin to make his way down the icy steps. In this very courtyard, only days, no _hours_, before, he'd been murdered by his own brothers, left to die in the snow for doing what he had thought was right. Now, alive again, in a world he no longer understands, in a world that has felt dark and bleak since his eyes opened again... Suddenly, he feels a purpose again. Suddenly, there is meaning in life again. 

The fears she had once felt about Jon not wanting to see her fade away the moment their eyes catch. He looks at her as if he's seen a ghost, and in truth, she is barely more than that. But in that moment, when he's looking at her, they're both kids again. He's wrestling with Robb in the courtyard of Winterfell, while Arya cheers him on. In that moment, he's been partnered with her in their dance lessons and she can't help but to tease him the first time he goes an entire dance without stepping on her toes. In that moment, they were safe and warm at home, with their family. In that moment, they were happy.

But then she blinked and remembered that was just the past. Robb was gone, Arya was gone... Bran and Rickon were not certainly dead, but lost to them all the same. And their father... Her mother... They were all gone.

They were all but ghosts, just as she had become. 

Every step brings him closer to where she stands, the wind pulling at her hair, at her clothes. Standing so close, he can see she's thin, can see the pallor of her cheeks. It takes his breath away, the sight of her there, so broken down, so unlike the sister he recalls from childhood. _What's happened to you,_ he wonders to himself as he takes only a single step closer, the breath rushing from his lungs in a cloud of white. The snow continues to fall around them but suddenly, he can't feel the cold. 

Her name is there on the tip of his tongue but emotion chokes him. It's only a moment later that he's opening his arms as she's rushing into them, the momentum of his embrace sweeping her off her feet. He can hear her sharp intake of breath a moment before she's nuzzling her face into his neck, desperate for warmth, desperate for the touch of someone who loves her. Jon holds fast to her, realizing now that she's in his arms just how thin she's become, just how cold she must truly be. 

The embrace lasts for what could have been hours, for time seemed to have stopped entirely the moment she was in his arms. But now that he's put her back onto her own two feet, with his arms at her hips, the world springs back into action. She is dead on her feet, he realizes then, noting not just the paleness of her cheeks but the dark rings that circle her blue eyes. It is only his touch that keeps her standing. Over her shoulder, he meets gazes with the woman knight she's rode in with, and unspoken words fall between them. "Let's get you inside," he finally speaks, turning his gaze back to Sansa. She gives a small nod and with his arm slung around her, he helps her through the quiet courtyard and towards the stairs he's only just come down. 

Once inside, he draws her to the chair nearest the fire and gently pushes her down onto it. Across the room, his own furs are laying across the back of another chair and so he reaches for them and returns to her side, draping them over her shoulders without a single word. She murmurs her thanks and clutches them closer, her shivering much more apparent now. He drags a chair up and settles it beside hers, sitting himself down only a moment later. 

For what feels like an eternity, there is nothing but the crackle of the logs in the fireplace. But then... She speaks. "I was afraid you'd not want to see me," she says softly, turning her blue eyes down, staring at the floor beneath her feet. When Jon reaches for her hand, she jumps, startled, and the gaze that meets his is one full of fear. Suddenly, he's understanding. Suddenly, he's angry. But he pushes the anger away, despite how badly it wants to seep into his bones. It vanishes entirely when she clings to his hand, her fears fading with his anger as he places his other hand over hers. "I didn't know where else to go."

"I'll take care of you," he replies, swallowing against the rising tide of emotions within him. He feels like a ship tossed from side to side on the sea, he feels like a lost man who finally sees the light at the end of a dark tunnel. Her smile is that light.

"He said you would."

"Who?" Jon blinks and her little chuckle is almost enough to undo him. 

"Theon." 

That is a name he's not thought of in years- Theon Greyjoy, raised among the Stark children as Ned's ward, though he had always been distant with him. _Bastard_, he had called him, rather than by his name. "Theon...?" Jon asks and Sansa looks away, a new look falling into place on her features. A sad look that he knows comes straight from her heart. He wonders what's more surprising... That she's been with Theon, or that deep down Theon might be a good man. 

"He said he would have died to get me to you, I'm only here because of him." She speaks quietly, staring down at their tangle of hands resting upon her thigh. Jon's hand is warm against hers and she never wants to let go. She closes her eyes against the rush of emotion coursing through her and as if he senses it, Jon gives her hand a gentle squeeze. When she finally looks back up, Jon's eyes are misty and her heart skips a beat. "Warm..." She murmurs then, realizing only in that moment that the deep set cold she once felt has begun to dissipate. "You're warm." 

Only a short while ago, Edd had asked him what he intended on doing now, after all that had happened, after being brought back to life. _Get warm,_ had been his answer, but he had meant it in an entirely different way. But now... Everything had changed, everything was different... All because she sat there in front of him. "I'll keep you warm," he says softly and she smiles, surprising him a moment later when she leans in, head against his shoulder. 

When someone finally dares to enter the room, it's Brienne, with Edd hovering behind her looking uncertain at interrupting. As they close the door behind them, Jon raises a single finger to his lips before he gestures down at Sansa, who with her head still against his shoulder, sleeps peacefully. Unbeknownst to him, this is her first peaceful sleep in years. Truly. 

It is as he said, he would take care of her, he would keep her warm. 

Even if it was just like this. 


	28. dont bring me back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a season 6 rewrite.   
the night before the battle of the bastards.

He could not forget what she had said to him, he could not forget how she had looked at him then. Her pale face swam before him, those piercing blue eyes shining in the dark of his tent. She had pulled her furs closer, as if these would serve as protection from what was to come. They had argued, Sansa telling him not to make a mistake, to not do the things Ramsay had expected. And he'd shouted back, telling her they'd never have the number of men needed to take back Winterfell. But that he believed in the odds stacked against them. And it had been then that Sansa had uttered the words Jon had never wanted to hear. If we lose... I won't go back to Ramsay alive. She had stared at him then with those same blue eyes, as if daring him to disagree. _Do you understand me?_ She had asked, her gaze unwavering, her heartbeat steady. Jon had barely been able to breathe. Of course he knew what she meant. Of course he knew the truth of her words. "I won't ever let him touch you again." He'd said the only thing he could think to say. "I'll protect you, I promise." It was the only vow he knew he could make, the only promise that meant anything to him. Sansa had looked like she might smile, her eyes darkening as she gazed right at him. _No one can protect me,_ she had said softly, _no one can protect anyone._ Then she had gone, disappearing into the darkness outside, to return to her own tent where she'd remain awake well into the night.

He couldn't forget that. Not the sound of her voice, not the intense stare of her eyes. She had meant what she had said, about not returning to Ramsay alive. Jon knew that if he lost tomorrow, he'd lose more than just Winterfell, more than just Rickon. He would lose Sansa. The very thought left him empty inside. No one can protect me, those soft words she'd spoken wounded him more than any scream or insult could have. Those were the words of a young woman let down by everyone around her. Those were the words of someone without faith, without hope. Sansa had been beaten and betrayed, sold and abused, all at the hands of the men around her. Jon knew he could not protect her from what had happened to her already, but he would die defending her future. 

Unable to shake her from his mind, he pulled on his furs and strode from his tent, the icy blast of cold air sending chills down his spine. He walked until he reached the red priestess' tent, going inside without invite. Melisandre sat alone within, turning her head as he approached. "You were not at the war council." He commented as she shifted in the chair to look at him, regarding him with her dark blue eyes. 

"I am not a soldier." She replied with a sigh. If she could tell he was restless, she did not comment on it. 

"Any advice?" Jon heard himself ask, though a part of him already knew she would have none. 

"Don't lose," the red priestess replied, turning back to face the fire she sat before. Jon's lips twitched with a smile, knowing that was the best advice any one could have given him. _Don't lose indeed,_ he thought, he could not begin to imagine what it would be like if he truly did lose to Ramsay. 

At once, his mind turned to Sansa... To her smile that had just begun to return to her... To how soft the skin of her palm was when her hand gripped his own... To the way her voice changed when she said his name. No, he could not lose... But if he did? If he did... He could not, would not, live without her. "If I do... If I fall tomorrow... Don't bring me back." Melisandre turned back to him then, her eyes widening as they fell upon his somber features. The priestess could tell he was telling the truth then, that he truly did not want revived if the battle took a turn for the worst. Though she argued with him, Jon left her tent a few minutes later telling himself all would be well, that he would stay true to the promise he'd made Sansa.

Approaching Sansa's tent, he had half of a mind to go inside, to tell her how much he cared, to tell her that everything would end as it should. But he could not see the light of a candle within and so he told himself she'd gone off to sleep and he would tell her tomorrow when the battle was over. Even if she didn't believe him, Jon would keep his promise to protect her. Even if it killed him, he'd take Ramsay Bolton with him. 

It was as he had said, he would never let him touch her again. 


	29. Just Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on art by sizzlinbaconpeach on tumblr.

She had been looking for him for close to an hour now, checking all of his usual hiding spots- his chambers and the crypts, under the Heart Tree and even the highest of towers. The garden had been more like a last resort for she’d truly not expected to find him there. But there he was all the same. There in the gardens where the winter roses still yet bloomed, clearly still cared for by someone in Winterfell. And now that she found him there, just how obvious it was. Of course Jon was there, surrounded by the beautiful blooms. They were his mother’s favorite flower, Sansa recalled her father saying Lyanna had always been enchanted by their lovely smell. Of course Jon would be there, if only to feel close to her.

He was alone on the bench with the lightest dusting of snow layered over his shoulders. Just how long had he been there? Sansa approached him quietly, noticing how his shoulders shook, telling her just how badly he was hurting. Not that she could blame him. How was one supposed to feel when you lived your whole life thinking you were someone, only to be told you were someone else? Sansa knew how badly Jon had always wanted to be called a Stark, to be a true born son of their father’s… And now he wasn’t even a bastard. In truth, he was far more than any single one of them. He was a prince, he was royalty. No… He was a King. But, Sansa couldn’t help but to still think of him as just Jon. He had always been a Stark to her, after all. This reveal of his parentage didn’t have to change anything if he didn’t want it to.

Reaching out, she placed her hand upon his shoulder and at once he turned to face her, his face somber and pale. He stared up at her for several long moments before his face crumpled, his own hand sliding into place over hers. She came around then, sinking onto the bench beside him, taking him into her arms as he began to cry. There were no words needed as he held fast to her, as if she were the only thing keeping him anchored to this world. Her body, warm and soft, revived his own cold, aching frame, reminding him that things were not yet all lost. For a long time they sat there together, arms around each other, until finally Jon’s tears began to fade and he sat up, though close to her side did he remain. Sansa slipped an arm around his shoulder, drawing him closer, and she felt Jon tip his head to rest against her own.

It was only then that she spoke.

“Nothing has to change you know?” Jon did not reply, but she felt him shift, his hand reaching out to take hold of hers where it sat on his knee. “No matter who anyone else says you are… No matter what kingdom you’re born to rule or not rule… You’re always going to be Jon Snow to me.” She turned her head then, catching the faintest of smiles on his lips before he sat up straight, though their shoulders still brushed.

A moment later, Jon rose up to his feet and Sansa watched as he reached for a winter rose, plucking it from its place in its bush. “For you.” He said as he offered it out for her to take, his lips curving with the first true smile she’d seen since his return to Winterfell. “Thank you, Sansa…” He spoke softly this time, his eyes holding so much more meaning than his words could ever say. She smiled as she took the rose from him, their gloved fingers brushing as she accepted the bloom. 

And then Jon turned, walking away from her there on the bench, leaving her with a racing heart and blushing cheeks. 


	30. The steps I take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sansa in king's landing post season 8 finale.  
canon divergent.

This path she walks has haunted her for years now.

These same steps she takes now sound just as empty, just as hollow as they had the first time she'd been forced to walk them. Back then, she had lived in a world of fear, of misery. Back then, she had been sick with it, alone and lost in a world where she was nothing beyond the prey of a mad boy king. Even now, she can recall the horror that had rushed through her at the first sight of her father's head, newly removed from his body, stuck on a pike on the highest of walls. It was where traitor's heads were put as a reminder to the rest of the world of what would happen to those who rebelled against their king. 

She's standing at the egde of the stone now, the wooden bridge just barely beneath the the pointed toes of her boots. Though she knows when she looks up there will be nothing there, she's still hesitant, she still feels ill. But she forces her gaze upwards as she had once done years before, though this time she sees nothing but the vast expanse of blue sky above her. The newly restored roof glimmers in the sunlight, the old one destroyed in the sacking of King's Landing by Daenerys Targaryen only several months before. Of all things to remain intact after the burning of the capital, this dark, awful place had to remain standing. 

And so she forced herself to return to it, telling herself that if this place had withstood Daenerys' fiery destruction, then it was meant for her to come back to it. She was meant to try and find peace in this place, after all that had happened to her here, she was meant to face it again. 

Letting out the breath she's been holding, Sansa takes a step out onto the wooden bridge, recalling the exact place Joffrey had once been standing. _Look at him!_ Joffrey's sharp, angry voice still ripples through her memory. As does the image of her father's weather beaten face, bloodied and bruised upon the pike. Such a sight has haunted her since that day, the day she watched him have his head cut from his neck. Joffrey had laughed and called that mercy. _Mother says a king must never strike his lady. Ser Meryn!_ She can still yet feel the stinging blow from Ser Meryn, can still taste the blood that stains her lips red. Ser Meryn had never held back when he was doing Joffrey's bidding. 

She remembers the exact moment she had realized just how high they stood, how with just one single shove Joffrey would be dead. She also remembers how little she feared what would happen to her after doing such a thing. But the Hound had stopped her, had cleaned her bloody lip and stopped her from making another mistake. When they had left her standing there, she had contemplated jumping, if only to be with her family again. But fear had stopped her and instead she had cried beneath her father's severed head, silently pleading for guidance from the Gods she had been taught to pray to. None of them ever answered her and so she had learned to stop praying. 

Back then, she had thought that nothing could ever be worse than Joffrey... She only wishes she had been right.

"Sansa?" 

She turns at the soft sound of a voice calling her name, lips curving with the smallest of smiles when she sees Jon standing there. "I've been looking for you," he says, taking a single step closer to where she stands on the bridge. "What are you doing up here?" He's surprised to find her out here. It's strange, seeing her there in a gown that is not black or gray. This one is the same shade as a morning dove, the softest of blues that one might argue is still gray, though it is a color most fitting for her ivory skin and fire kissed hair. He misses her Northern style gowns, but this Southern style gown is fit for a queen, form fitting with a pack of direwolves embroidered along the trailing hem. Her hair is still twisted back in its usual braids, done with her own hands that very morning. He's offered her ladies and hand maidens, but she always waves away the suggestion, opting to only keep Brienne close to her. 

He had been watching her for a few moments before interrupting; he knows there's much for her to face here in King's Landing. He knows there's much she's not told him in regards to what happened to her here- but watching her there, he knows she's facing a painful sort of memory. Her face tells him everything that her words had not. He's told her time and time again that she need not be here, that she could return home to the North where she belonged. But she always laughed and asked him how he would ever survive without her? She wasn't wrong. After so long of always being driven apart, Jon wasn't certain he could ever part with her again. 

"Remembering," she finally says, turning back around to look up at the sky one last time before she turns back to him. For a moment, she contemplates telling him the truth, but he smiles and bridges the gap between them, his hand warm on her elbow a moment later. It was only ghosts and memories left here in King's Landing. There was little reason to fear what could no longer hurt her. And so she allows Jon to steer her back and down the corridor she once walked alone, back down towards the main floor of the palace. As they walk, she cannot help but to lean in on his arm, happy to feel the warmth of his skin against hers through the layers of their clothes. King's Landing might have held dark, frightening memories for her... But she had a feeling that soon, new ones would take over. 

New, happy memories that she would cherish for the rest of her days.

Being here with Jon, she would find happiness. 


	31. Where will we go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sansa & jon talk after the reunion in season 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
rape mention.

Looking into Jon's eyes, she knew she was safe. She knew that she could speak freely about the trauma she had suffered, about the horrors she had witnessed. There would be no judgment against the things she had done as a frightened child, there would only be understanding. There would be no malice against her, the child of Ned Stark, the child that had sought his survival but been given his head on a spike. A shudder raced through her, as it always did when she thought back to that awful moment... The moment where she watched her father's head get cut off. Right before her own eyes, she watched his head come off, she watched as it bounced across the stage... And that was it.

But it was enough.

"Sansa..." Jon's soft voice brought her back and she turned to look into his face, his dark brown eyes drawing her in. "You don't have to..." He murmured, knowing that her pain was evident, and perhaps speaking of it was not in her best interest. But, Sansa knew she needed to speak, she needed to tell someone of all she had seen. She felt the warm touch of Jon's hand as he took her own in his grasp and she fixed her blue eyes upon him, knowing there was nothing more she needed to do than this. 

And so she opened her mouth, her words weaving images for Jon of things no one should ever have to witness, of things no person should ever have to endure. From the beheading of their father, to her abuse at the hands of Joffrey. Jon felt a tremor of rage rush through him as he thought of her back then, so young, with a face full of bruises and a heart full of pain. Her words spoke volumes to her growth, to her change from a child to a woman. Jon kept his hand tightly around hers as he listened to her speak, telling him every thought that had ever crossed her mind- from the blame she put on herself for their father's death, to the shame she felt for doing what she had done to survive. 

But nothing could prepare him for what she told him next.

"He did whatever he pleased with me, but was careful of my face. He needed my face." She spoke strongly, ignoring Jon's soft intake of breath at the words. "It started the first night, when he made Theon watch." Her words grew softer, her hand trembling in Jon's grasp. "He raped me, Jon. He beat me, he killed a whore in front of me. Everyone there was on his side, no one but Theon was a friend to me." She could recall every single instance from her time beside Ramsay- from the moment she had first felt his hands upon her, to the first time he'd drawn her blood. She would never forget the terrible things that she had endured by his hands, how could she? 

Jon felt the anger surging through him as Sansa spoke, the feeling so strong he had to pull away his hand in fear of squeezing hers too tightly. "I'm sorry, Sansa..." He muttered, shaking his head, despair instead taking root within him. Bastard or not, this was his sister and he was supposed to protect her. He was the eldest surviving son, except for maybe Bran, wherever he was, and it was his duty to protect his family. But he had failed. It was then that he felt her small, warm hand slip into his own, giving it a tender squeeze. He looked up, meeting her brilliant blue eyes, and watched as a small smile transformed her weary features. "I should have been there...."

"You can't blame yourself, there's no one to blame but those who've done this to me." She said softly, steering him away from a spiral of despair and self doubt. Joffrey was already taken care of, but there were others of course. "I don't want this to happen to anyone else, Jon." She looked into his eyes, so he could see the truth reflected there in their depths, so he knew what she truly meant. Of course he understood, he'd have Ramsay's head before the day was done, if he could. 

But now was not the moment for revenge, now was the moment for taking care of Sansa. He rose up from his chair, slipping his hand from hers to walk across the room, spooning out the soup that had been warming over the fire. Returning to her side, he handed her the bowl, encouraging her softly to eat. As he dropped back into his own chair, he took the moment to more closely inspect her- the faded bruise on her cheek, the thinness of her frame beneath the mountain of blankets she was wrapped in... How she trembled, ever so slightly, at the touch of his own hand. Or how she jumped at every little noise, her blue eyes seeking the source of her fright. Jon knew she thought of Ramsay with every jump, knew that the only thing she feared was going back to him. But he would never allow that. 

"Good soup," she murmured with a smile, interrupting his thoughts, bringing a smile of his own to his features. "So, where will you go now?" 

Jon paused a moment, staring back at her as if she'd grown another head. Where would he go next? No where, without her that was. "Where will we go next." He corrected her, watching as her face lit up. She sat up a little bit straighter, setting aside her finished bowl of soup, blue eyes twinkling in the firelight.

"Let's go home, Jon." 


	32. Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one was inspired by a tumblr post.

Children's laughter floated along the wind as two boys ran by, one with dark curls, the other with a twinge of Tully red. "Robb! Ned!" It was Jon who called out and the little ones raced towards their parents, the smaller of the two giving one last tongue wag at his brother. "Your uncle will be here any minute and this is how you wish to greet him?" Both boys tip their heads back, looking up into their father's eyes; beside him, holding their youngest child, Sansa sighs as she takes in the sight of them. There's no time to change them, though she supposes Bran expects to see them this way. Jon opens his mouth to speak but there comes a cry from the watch tower and the gate begins to open.

The family turns as the first pair of horses rides through, each carrying the Stark sigil banners, with a large carriage coming close behind. When the door opens, a ramp come down, and Sansa sucks in a breath as Bran comes down in his wheel chair. He stops before them, a light smile upon his face as his sister shifts the babe in her arms into Jon's instead so she can throw her arms around the brother she'd so dearly missed. Though they wrote each other often, it had been a long five years since they'd last saw one another. "Sansa," he greets when she stands upright, a teary smile on her face. She was as beautiful as ever- motherhood agreed with her, that was for certain. "Jon." He turns to look at the man he still yet called brother. Jon looks happy, happier than he could ever remember him looking in all his life. 

It's then that he turns to face the three children that stand just behind their parents, the small girl clinging to her mother's skirts. "Hello children." Bran greets them with a smile, amusement rushing through him when the oldest boy steps up, not a trace of fear in his young face.

Robb was born not even a year into their marriage and already he was called the Young White Wolf, named for the uncle he would never know. He's tall for his age and thin, like a willow tree, like Sansa. The boy is every inch a Stark, every inch his father's child. His dark eyes are wise beyond his near five years though the smile that flashes is easy going. Bran recalls the dream he'd had of this child, a dream of a shining future for the heir to the North. Beside Robb a smaller boy stands and Bran knows this must be Ned, named for the grandfather lost many years ago. Ned had been born barely a year after Robb and it would seem fate would keep the brother's close for all of their lives. He is small boned, reminding him much of Arya, and he smiles as he thinks of his sister. This child's brown curls are tinted with Tully red and his eyes are the very same shade of blue as Sansa's. His smile is a bit more reserved than his big brother's but his eyes shimmer as they raise to meet Bran's gaze. 

He turns to the third child, a little beauty that is a perfect copy of her mother, though her hair is dark as Jon's. Lyanna was but two years old now and Bran felt the sensation of a vision rushing through him. It was gone before he could truly see it and so he smiled upon her and the child giggled, releasing her mother's skirts so she could come closer to where Bran sat. A touch of wild in her, Bran thought, recalling the words his father had said of her namesake and the aunt she already had begun to idolize. But this one will be happy. Unlike her grandmother, dead far too young, this child would live happily. The youngest child, another girl, now snoozes in Jon's arms, and he can see that she too looks like Sansa, the only of the children to have the true Tully hair. He's not seen anything for this child, though she's small, not even a year old yet, and Bran suspects she too will have a life to be proud of. 

Sansa opens her mouth as if she means to speak but Bran looks up at her, blinking with a sudden realization. "This is all of your children?" He frowns, shaking his head. "Where are the other ones?" 

Now it's Sansa's turn to blink in her confusion, a brow shooting up in surprise. "These are all of our children, Bran." Neither parent realizes that the two boys have darted off again, this time with Lyanna in tow, her wobbling legs not able to keep up pace with her big brothers and she cries for them to wait for her. 

"Where are the twins?" Bran asks, certain he knew there should have been two additional children for his viewing. But that's when he realized, and so did they, that the children he spoke of had not yet been born. 

"You mean there's going to be more of them?" Jon asks, his voice betraying his surprise as he turns to look at Sansa, who's helplessly smiling at this news. "More?" Were four not enough? Robb alone was enough to make up the noise and trouble of two kids and Lyanna was not going to be far behind her oldest brother. To think of two more...? But then he chuckled as he looked down at the sleeping face of his youngest daughter and then up to at the trio that now played across the courtyard, their voices carrying along the wind, bringing a smile to his face. After being alone for so very long, neither he or Sansa would be truly upset over the possibility of more children. In fact... He loved his family so dearly, he'd be happy with as many more as Sansa wished to bear. 

And so he slings his free arm around Sansa and together they lead Bran towards Winterfell, back to home.

[ x x x ]

The following summer, the twins are born one early morning. 

The boy they name Benjen and the girl Alysanne. Much like their older siblings, they form perfect combinations of their parents, but when the twins open their eyes, there is no denying the touch of Targaryen in them both for both infants have eyes of violet-blue. 

When the raven comes to King's Landing, Bran smiles, recalling the dream he'd had only the night before- of six Stark children playing in the godswood with a pack of wolves in the winter snow. It would be as his father always said, it seemed. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. 


	33. With spring comes happiness... And life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another fix it fic, post s8 finale.

When the Northern army returns North, Jon is at their command. 

He rides into Winterfell, not as a king, but a man. He's done as he promised he would do- protect her, protect the North. She stands there in the courtyard, waiting for him, draped in furs and her armored black dress. She is all but a crowned queen and the North bows to her already, as they should have done a long time ago. Jon dismounts from his horse and hands the reins to the closest man, striding across the courtyard to stand before her. "Welcome home." She smiles before she opens her arms and takes him into her warm embrace. "Lets get you warm," she says when she pulls back, holding him at arm's length for only a moment. Jon nods, allowing her to lead him up the stairs into the main hall of Winterfell and down the hallway that led to the Lord's rooms, though he supposed they'd soon be called the queen's rooms instead. 

In her rooms, there's already a fire roaring and Sansa steers him towards it only after she's pulled his old fur cloak from his shoulders. She tosses hers with his onto her bed and sinks into the chair beside his, pushing a goblet of ale into his hands. "Drink." She commands softly, knowing the drink would bring back some warmth to his body while the fire did the rest. "It took you so long to get back, I was worried," she comments, knowing well a storm had delayed their return by several days. The storm had raged hard there at Winterfell and Sansa had been fearful for Jon and her men as they returned from King's Landing. 

"The storm was hard." Jon says after he takes a long drink from the goblet, thankful for the warm fire and her hand that now rests on his knee. "I thought it would never let up," he thinks back to the third night of the storm raging on, of sleeping cramped into a carriage with several other soldiers, just trying to stay warm. The thought of her had been the only thing to keep him going, even in the coldest, darkest of moments. "But I promised I'd come back, didn't I?" He asks with a smile and the one that blooms on her face is sweet and soft, her sapphire eyes gleaming in the firelight. 

She nods at his question a moment before she leans in to press her forehead against his, feeling his hand slide into place over hers there on his knee. "I have something to tell you," she says softly, pulling back to settle more comfortably into her chair. "That night... Before you left, I mean... " At once he knows the night she speaks of, the night before he had left for King's Landing to fight in the battle for Daenerys' throne. At least, that's what Daenerys had thought it to be. Jon nods, recalling the night with a fond memory; they had spent an entire night in each other's arms, finally giving in to the feelings they'd had for one another without fear or reservation. He only wishes they had more than that one night. But that morning he had gone off to King's Landing, not to return for nearly two months, between the war and imprisonment and the winter storm. 

"Jon... I..." She trails off, torn between a smile and a frown, though she shakes her head as if to clear her mind. For the last week she has done little else but think about how she's to tell him what she now knows. "I'm with child." She finally says, the words leaving her in a rush; the moment they've left her mouth, she feels as if a weight has lifted from her shoulders. 

For a long time, Jon can do nothing but look at her, mouth slightly agap. "W-with child?" He finally chokes out, his shock finally registering upon his features. His mind spins, his heart races, and suddenly it's feeling quite warm in the room. He leaps to his feet and she follows after him to the window, where he stands for a moment before turning back to face her. "Truly?" He asks softly, watching as she gives just a single nod, reaching for his hands to bring them to her stomach. He palms the flat plane of her abdomen, knowing well it would begin to swell with the life inside her before long, a life that they had created together. It's only then that a surge of joy replaces his surprise and he takes her into his arms, holding onto her as tightly as he dares. "A babe..." He smiles when he pulls back, holding her at arms length, surprised to see the tears shining in her sapphire eyes. 

"You're happy?" She asks softly, her fears having been all involving him and not wanting a child... Or maybe even not wanting her. But this... A baby would change everything. They had never even established what they were to one another beyond sleeping together that night and she can't help but to feel trepidation, that he might not truly want to continue something, whatever it was, with her. 

"Happy?" He asks with a laugh, hands rising to cup her cheeks between his palms, leaning in to tip his forehead against hers. "There's no way you could make me happier," he speaks with honesty, knowing all of his life he had longed for a family that he could truly belong to. A family that he would never have to say he wasn't a part of. In Sansa and Arya and even Bran he had such a thing, but now it would expand. Now it would be children to follow after him, children he could leave a legacy with. Children that would make him happier than he had ever been before. "This is all I've ever wanted." 

Sansa smiles, relief flooding her body as she sinks into his embrace, warm and comforted by the feel of his arms around her. The fight for the Iron Throne was over, for the throne itself was gone, the nations left to independence, and now a new chapter of their lives could begin. One without war or bloodshed, one without horror or sorrow. 

A new life of happiness that would come with the spring. 


	34. All memory of you will disappear.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rewrite of sansa's POV giving ramsay what he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
abortion   
idk if thats "triggering" so much as it is controversial.   
\+ also a trigger warning for pregnancy by rape, actually. 
> 
> anyways dont read on if youre not into that or if it will upset you. because thats NOT WHAT WE'RE HERE FOR. :)

She had calculated every step of her plan.

Sansa supposed that living among the scheming, manipulating Lannisters had taught her to always be one step ahead of her enemies. And while she had put her trust into Jon to win the battle against Ramsay, she had known they would be outnumbered. She had known what the odds were and those odds certainly were not in their favor. And Sansa had promised Jon that she would not go back alive to Ramsay Bolton. One way or another, she would escape him, whether it be through the battle or her own death. 

Luckily, the fates had been kind and the battle had been won. But only after she called upon Lord Baelish and his army of soldiers that had ultimately stolen the battle out from under Ramsay. Thanks to her, the battle had been theirs. 

"My Lady?"

The voice in her doorway brought her back to the present and she turned, facing Brienne who looked grim. "Did you...?" Sansa inquired as Brienne crossed the threshold of her chamber, allowing the door to swing closed behind her. Brienne nodded and Sansa stood, meeting her in the center of the room, taking a little wrapped package from her hands. "Thank you, Brienne." Sansa whispered, meeting her protector's eyes, unaware of the pain reflected within her own. There had been no one else in the world she could have trusted with this task, the one Brienne had now completed. There was no one else in the world she could have told.

"I still think it's best that you allow a maester to mix it," Brienne began but was silenced with one look from Sansa, who was shaking her head. "It's dangerous. Lethal, if not made right..." Again, Brienne was hushed, this time by a wave of Sansa's hand. Moving towards the fire place, she pulled from it the tin cup heating over the low flame, and set it down upon the mantle. Opening the package, she tipped its various contents into the steaming cup, stirring until the water had turned to a dark brown, looking like a simple tea. 

"No one can know." Sansa whispered before she lifted the mug to her lips and took down a swallow. It was bitter, but she'd tasted worse, and so she forced down another sip. "No one can know," she repeated softly, staring into the flames as she finished drinking down the cup of drink, pulling a face as the last of it burned her throat on the way down. There, at least now that was taken care of. "Call my maidens, I'd like to get dressed." She set the cup back down and turned to Brienne, fixing her with her blue-eyed stare. "My warmest dress." Brienne stared back at her young charge before she swallowed and gave a single nod, leaving the room to send for the maids. 

It was but an hour later when Sansa found herself approaching the cell where Ramsay was kept. She kept her steps quiet, approaching in near silence that for several moments she could enjoy the sight of him strapped to a chair, unaware of her presence. He was bloody, beaten to a pulp by Jon's own hands, a sight she'd not soon forget. Jon, bloodstained and dirty, as he beat Ramsay's face into the ground, the image sending chills down her spine. Jon had done that for her and she didn't blame him, but when their eyes had met that day, he'd ceased. Almost as if he'd known the truth of her heart, right then and there. 

"Ahh... Sansa..." 

The chill of his voice caught her attention and she reached out, wrapping her gloved hands around the bars of his cell. "I suppose this is where I am to stay now..." Despite his injuries, his tone still held an ounce of the mockery it always had. "No..." He then went on, shifting on the chair, a groan passing his lips. "Our time together is coming to an end." Sansa said nothing, merely continued to stare at him there in the cell, her face betraying not a single emotion rushing through her. "Not that you can kill me... I am a part of you now."

Sansa felt a chill race through her spine, felt her stomach give a little lurch. "Your words will disappear," she said solemnly, never once allowing her gaze to waver. Her stomach gave another lurch, but still she did not move. "Your house will disappear, your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear." Ramsay did not move, did not even speak as he listened to the words that she spoke. Between the sound of her voice and the wind that howled, he could not hear the growling of the dogs on his either side. 

But then he did.

He turned to look to his right, to where the snarling face of one of his dogs had appeared. Then, to his left, another one was approaching. "My hounds will never harm me," his voice was sharp and Sansa let out a little breath, a wane smile toying with her lips. 

"You haven't fed them in days, you said so yourself." Sansa retorted, still peering in through the bars, though her face had come much closer. Her blue eyes were staring Ramsay down, who licked his bloody lips and for a moment, actually looked worried.

"They're loyal beasts," he snapped back, though his confidence had begun to wane.

"They were," Sansa replied, her calm demenor feeling cold even to herself. "Now, they're starving." Her words ended but the dogs around Ramsay began to growl a bit louder, enticed by the sweet, coppery scent of blood that clung to their master's body. Sansa watched as the biggest dog approached, climbing up to place its paws on his chest, licking his face, lapping at the blood until suddenly.... 

Ramsay let out a blood curdling scream as the dog lunged, taking a bite right into the soft flesh of his cheek. The the other dog was there, tearing through his layers of clothes to his upper arm, ripping the flesh from his bone. They were snarling as they devoured their master and Sansa stood stock still, watching as the flesh was flayed from his bones by his own beasts. She stood there in silence until his screaming silenced, until even his breathing ceased. It wasn't until Sansa was positive he was dead that she turned her back to the scene, walking away without a single regret. In truth, she felt almost nothing at all. 

She felt nothing but cold, hard redemption. 

[ x x x ]

When she woke that night, it was from a sharp, hot pain in her belly. 

A little moan left her lips as she kicked back her covers, revealing despite the darkness the bloodstain beneath her. Pain ripped through her again and she threw her head back, trying to keep her voice down as she cried out. But, Brienne was there within moments, having heard her from the very first cry. "My lady," Brienne stood beside the bed, gently sponging her hot forehead, as she writhed on the bed. "Let me get someone." Sansa reached for Brienne's hand, gripping it sharply, pinning her with her intense eyes. 

"Just stay with me." Sansa whimpered as another wave of pain rocked her and she focused on what was happening to her body. 

It didn't take much longer for the child to pass, though the thing that her body spit out resembled little more than a clump of blood. "Get rid of it," Sansa gasped, rolling away from what would have been Ramsay's child, unable to look at it's feeble little form. Brienne did as she was bid, pulling all of the sheets and blankets away, wrapping the fetus among them. Modesty forgotten, Sansa pulled her bloodied chemise over her head and gave that to Brienne as well, who then stepped in front of the fireplace to dump the bundle onto the coals. It sprung to life again as the bedding took flame, casting the entire room into light. 

With that bundle of bedding went all remnants of what had just happened there and for that, Sansa was thankful. Brienne called for a maid only then, explaining to the young woman that appeared that Sansa's courses had come and new bedding an a new chemise would be necessary. Thinking nothing of it, the maid set to work, first bringing Sansa a fine new chemise, which she helped to dress her in, depositing her into the chair before the fireplace while she began to make the bed anew. 

Sansa stared into the fire, every memory of her time with Ramsay filtering through her mind. From the way his dark eyes had looked at her, so hungry and menacing. To the way his hands had felt on every inch of her skin, so rough and abrasive. Now, all of those things were just memories. And so was their would be child. 

It was just as she had told Ramsay, every piece of him would disappear. 


	35. The North is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a scene rewrite where Dany does right by Sansa, rather than be a total bitch.

When Jon said he was bringing with him a Targaryen queen, Sansa had not expected who he brought. It had always been rumored that the young queen was beautiful and yet... Sansa was awestruck by her beauty. All soft edges, Daenerys Targaryen was silver-haired with violet eyes that even long after they parted, she could not help but to still see. Her dragons were terrifying, she supposed, but Sansa felt no fear. She was as strong as Winterfell, after all. 

Sitting there in her office, the one that had once belonged to Jon, Sansa was checking over every last detail of what was to come. Even now as she sat there, people poured into Winterfell where they could be kept safe from harm. At least... She hoped so. Fear for her people consumed her, in truth she'd suffered many sleepless nights in the weeks since Jon had left for Dragonstone. His arrival had done little to calm her, though happy as she was to have her brother back where he belonged in Winterfell. They had all worried for him leaving- for what had happened to the last Stark to stand before a Targaryen royal? But, Jon had come back to her and finally her family was pieced back together again.

Back to the scrolls littering her desk, Sansa did not notice the approaching footsteps.

Dany stood in the doorway for a long moment, the door propped open to allow Sansa's advisers to come in and out as they needed. She could not help but to admire the young woman that sat behind the desk, red hair falling down her back like a waterfall. Dany couldn't help but to wonder what it would feel like between her fingers. They had not had many chances to speak alone and she had felt compelled to seek the Lady of Winterfell out. Though Jon was named King in the North, he had told her himself that such a title should have gone to his sister. Dany reminded herself again that when the time came, she'd not let these people down. She would be a good queen to them and assure them the North could remain its own kingdom, reclaimed in the name of House Stark from the treacherous Bolton's. 

Raising a hand, she knocked thrice on the doorframe and smiled when Sansa looked up. "Lady Stark," she greeted, gesturing for the young woman to remain where she sat, coming into the room only after she gently shut the door behind her. "I hope I'm not interrupting." She went on, looking down at the papers scattered across the table top. As Sansa shook her head, Dany took the seat across from her.

"No, of course not," Sansa's rosy lips curved with a cautious sort of smile- this was a young woman that did not trust easily. Not that Daenerys could blame her. She knew only a little of what she had suffered through- both in King's Landing and here in her very own home- and something told her she didn't want the full details. The poor girl had been used and abused for years now, it was a wonder she trusted anybody at all. "I'm only trying to ensure all of the North is as safe as they can be." 

"You make this look easy." Daenerys says with another smile, reaching out to touch the hands that were settled upon the table top. "Jon told me you were meant for it, moreso than he ever was." Dany tilted her head as she met eyes with her, momentarily lost in her sapphire gaze. A shiver raced the length of her spine and Dany drew back, hyper aware of how it felt staring into Sansa's eyes. She must have noticed it too for she drew back her hands and then looked down at them clasped in her lap, cheeks bright blooms of color. "Your people truly respect you." She had learned from many within Winterfell about how much they adored the eldest daughter of Ned Stark, but knowing her told Dany exactly why. Sansa was charming, with a sweet smile and pretty face; but she was also calculating and caring, her number one worry always that of her people. Dany could not help but to like her, as most people would say about the young Lady of Winterfell. 

"Jon stretches the truth about me." Sansa is quick to shake her head with a soft chuckle. "I have done the best I could while he was away, but in truth I could not wait for his return." She looks up then, her cheeks still warm with color, but her lips were smiling. "I do well for running things, but Jon... He can get anyone on his side. He's a natural leader." A moment later though, she leans back in her chair, still closely regarding the dragon queen before her. "When all of this is done... When the Night King is beaten... What about the North?"

Dany arches a brow in surprise, but then smiles with a quick shake of her head. "It is yours, Lady Stark." She watches as Sansa's face changes, shock taking root. "You took it back from those who meant to destroy you. It is as I plan to do with the Iron Throne." She locks eyes with the young woman, suddenly thinking about what a team they two would be- the two most powerful women in Westeros. Why, in the entire world. "When I have my throne, you shall have yours." She said with a strong nod. "I swear to you, I will never take the North from House Stark." Sansa's face changes, as if she might cry, but then she holds her head high as she can, giving a single yet solemn nod. "The North is yours, Lady Stark. Always." 

"Sansa," she says in response, hesitantly reaching out to touch Daenerys' hands as the dragon queen had done just a few minutes before. "Please, call me Sansa." 

Daenerys smiles and nods, the warmth of Sansa's hands sending shockwaves through her entire being. "Only if you call me Daenerys." 


	36. Well Deserved Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a friendly piece between sansa & tyrion, even if i did prefer the constant shade she served him in season 8.

He recalled the last time he'd saw her.

Young and frightened, moments before he'd been taken from the wedding feast of his long dead nephew. He had thought of her often, the young Sansa Stark, wondering where her life had taken her since they'd been separated. Once his travels had taken him across the seas, he'd not heard much from Kings Landing nor anywhere else. It had not been until the new King in the North, Jon Snow, had shown up at Dragonstone- where in the end he'd bent at the knee to his own silver-haired queen- that he'd learned news of his one time bride. Jon had not spoken in great detail of the horrors his sister had been dealt by the hands of the Boltons, but truth be told Tyrion didn't need such details to know the truth. He could not begin to imagine the abuse she had suffered... And to think it came so soon after her escape from King's Landing, where there too she had suffered. Was this all that life had in store for the young Sansa Stark?

But now, stepping into the main hall of Winterfell, Tyrion could see what kind of woman she had grown to be. She sat in a chair behind a long table, with a small, dark haired young boy (no, upon close inspection he could see it was in fact her younger sister, Arya) just behind her, hand carefully poised upon the sword sheathed at her side. Sansa had grown, that much he could see, and Tyrion could not help but appreciate the beauty she had become in the time since he'd last saw her. "My lord," Sansa greeted as she rose from her chair, her voice not so childlike as it had once been, not so timid. It was the voice of the Lady of Winterfell. "Welcome to Winterfell." She gestured about the room, the few men within the walls offering him a courteous bow. Behind her, Arya gave a single nod, though her dark eyes regarded him with a wary gaze. Those were not the eyes of someone who trusted easily, Tyrion noted. 

"Lady Sansa," Tyrion greeted finally, coming close enough to offer the girl a bow suitable to her rank. This was the girl who should be Queen of the North, the eldest true born Stark child. He reminded himself to speak to Daenerys of this situation, for this girl had already lost almost everything. It would not due for her to lose her home and title too. "It is truly wonderful to see you again. I have thought often of you, in truth." The young woman smiled and it transformed her features, reminding him then of the young girl he'd first met in King's Landing many years ago. A time so long ago it was almost as if it had never even happened. "I was not so certain we would meet again." 

Another smile twitched on the young woman's lips as she returned to her chair, her red hair falling across a shoulder as she shifted upon her chair. "In truth I thought the same." Her expression changed then, her blue eyes darkening as she gestured towards the few guards still yet remaining in the room. "You may go as well, Arya." Sansa spoke clearly and though the girl remained still a moment longer, she finally stalked away though the look she shot Tyrion was a dreadful one. "My sister means well, but I fear she is rude. Forgive her manners, my lord." Sansa could not help but to smile at her sister's expense, but she sobered when her eyes returned to Tyrion's. "Hand to the Queen, Daenerys Targaryen of all the Queen's..." She trailed off and settled a little more comfortably into her chair. "It is a role that suits you." 

In truth, there was not much about this Daenerys that Sansa knew. They had of course officially met the evening before and Sansa had been awestruck by the dragon queen's beauty. And perhaps a bit jealous by the looks exchanged between her and Jon, though she'd of course never speak on it. "One would be surprised by how easy of a job it is when the royal is not a Lannister." Tyrion spoke and at once Sansa giggled, her hand straying to her mouth as her eyes danced with mirth. "And I must say, you were born to rule the North. Your brother tells me you are well respected in the North, far beyond the respect given to a daughter of Ned Stark. You have earned their respect as their leader." Sansa blushed to the root of her flaming hair, though her eyes held the look of a proud lady. She glanced around the great hall, where once she had watched her own father sit in the same chair she sat upon, speaking to guests the way she spoke to them now... After all that had happened... After all that she had been through... 

It was amazing that she'd made it here. 

"Jon flatters me. But I do my duty as best that I can. The North is loyal to House Stark," she spoke with a nod, thinking back to the men that had once served her father and grandfather, but now served her instead. "The North remembers all, my Lord Tyrion." Sansa went on, offering him a small, almost strained smile. "They will not forget the unjust ways of the Bolton's nor their abuse and so it is easy for them to return to the old ways and the old House Stark." Part of her wished to speak more but dignity told her otherwise and instead she fell silent, reaching for her wine glass to distract her from the memories that had already begun to resurface. 

As Tyrion listened to her speak, he wondered if she knew how her face hardened at the mention of the Bolton's and he wondered if she knew how her hand trembled as she reached for her goblet of wine. He also couldn't help but to wonder when she had grown to like the drink, for he recalled a time when she turned her nose at it. Anger surged through him then, anger at what this poor child had suffered- her life should have been one of happiness and light. Instead, she had been used and abused and thrown away like trash. And yet... As he looked upon her, Tyrion could see that she had begun to rise above. It was as he had said all those years ago... You may survive us yet, Lady Stark. And survive she had. "It is easy to obey when a ruler is as kind and beautiful as you are, my lady." Tyrion spoke with all the airs of a proper courtier and for a moment, it was as if they were back at King's Landing. "But you have captured the Northern men's hearts and their loyalties too. Think not it is only because of your family name." 

Though she opened her mouth to speak, she was silenced by the sound of the door across the hall opening, and in came Jon, looking every inch the Northern King in his fur lined cloak. "Sansa," he greeted his sister with a grin as she rose to embrace him, their touch lingering perhaps a moment longer than Tyrion might have held onto his own sister. If he'd ever have embraced her, that was. He supposed the two had become close- how many nights had they spoken of the girl while in Dragonstone, after all? It was clear to him that Jon cared greatly for Sansa and she for him. "My lord, I apologize but I would like to steal my sister for the afternoon. There is much for us to discuss." 

"Of course, my lord, my lady." Tyrion offered both a bow and watched as Jon offered her his arm. Though Sansa paused, silently bidding Jon to stay only a moment longer. And then she came around to the front of the table, to stand before him with a sheepish smile. Before he could speak, the girl had knelt and flung her arms around him, all propriety thrown aside in the moment. For a instant, he did not know how to respond, but finally put his own arms around the girl and embraced her back, relishing in the warmth of her. 

"I am glad to see you, truly I am." She whispered into his ear before she pulled back and stood, smoothing the front of her gown without a word. Then she returned to Jon's side and slipped her arm through his, allowing him to lead her through the door in which he had come through only minutes before. And Tryion smiled, realizing then just how happy he was too, seeing her there like that. The girl had always had something about her that he liked and to see her grown into womanhood was a sight he was glad to see. He could only wish for her happiness in the years to come, for there was no one who deserved happiness more than Sansa Stark.


	37. After the trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where Jon & Sansa really go after Jaime Lannister's trial. 👀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adult content in this chapter!

When Jon goes after her, his heart is racing. 

"Sansa," he rasps her name, reaching for her arm before she disappears around the corner. She whirls back to face him, wide-eyed and rosy cheeked. Without a word he ushers her into the room they stand outside- an unused office more suited for storage these days- and closes the door behind them. Her hands are on him before he can speak, tearing at the leather he wears, his own hands catching her around the waist. "Sansa," his mouth is at her throat, teeth sinking into the milky white skin, wondering in the back of his mind how every inch of her is softer than silk. "I have something to tell you," his lips ghost across her skin, sending chills down her spine. She feels his hands roaming her body until they reach her hair, his nimble fingers threading through the long red strands. He's wanted little else since returning to her side days before. 

He draws back then, locking eyes with her as she fights to catch her breath. "Say it," she whispers as his hands skim the length of her body, coming to a rest at her hips again. "Say it." She says it again and this time it's like half-hearted command, her voice nothing but rounded edges. His mouth captures her a moment later and it's the only answer she's ever needed. He breaks the kiss, only to trail them down her jaw line instead. "Jon..." She murmurs and the sound of her voice saying his name is what forces him to lift his head and meet her gaze once again.

"I love you," he says it without hesitation, watching as a smile bloomed on her lips, a new brightness settled into her eyes. "I wanted to tell you... Just in case." Just in case I don't make it back. A new look is on her face but then it's gone, replaced by a burning look he'd only seen once before. Without another word, he takes her into his arms again and this kiss is wild, different than any of the others they had shared. Jon backs her up towards the table that sits strong against the western wall, stopping only when she was pressed against it. He moves her with ease, hefting her up onto its edge with one hand as he makes every attempt to control her skirts. She's laughing then, a sweet, almost unfamiliar sound, her hands releasing him to help pull her skirts back, sapphire eyes intense in their gaze. He unlaces his breeches and a moment later he's exposed to her; Sansa shifts, legs winding around his waist as he slides into her. The sound she makes makes his heart skip a beat and Jon can't believe what they're doing. But the thrill of the moment certainly outweighed the worry of being caught. Besides... Knowing what they knew now made all the difference. 

She writhes beneath him on the table, which rocks in time with his every movement, and he's thankful for the strength of the wall its placed against. His mouth is on hers then, silencing a sound that could certainly have people talking, grinding his hips into hers. Sansa can't believe they're doing this either... But every moment since he'd returned from Dragonstone had led right to it, truthfully. There was nothing that could stop them now. "I love you, too," she whispers, her breath warm against his ear as she arches her back, moving in time with his every thrust. She's waited months to say those words. 

It's over a short while later and he can't hardly catch his breath when he pulls free from her. "Sansa..." Her name is soft on his lips and she looks up at him as she slides from the table, smoothing down her skirts. "When I come back..." He shakes his head, knowing it's stupid to talk about the future when it was so very uncertain. And yet, standing there looking into her eyes, Jon sees his future; its her, after all. It's always been her. 

"When you come back... When it's all over... We'll be together." She says simply, as if that was the answer. He'd give anything for it to be that simple. They both would. But she's smiling, happy as she can be the night before they might all die. 

And so he nods, knowing there was nothing else he wanted in this lifetime than to be with her. Even if it was just a dream. 


	38. Just the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sansa thinking of jon & jon thinking of sansa, pre s6 reunion.

When she wakes, she's cold and stiff.

Sleep clouds her mind, but it fades with the first sharp pain that shoots through her body. She winces, stumbling from beneath the thin fabric she calls a blanket. It's been so long, she no longer wishes for furs. She's begun to grow accustomed to the cold. 

Several, staggering steps later, she's crossed the room and she clings to the window that hangs open, snow spilling in to dust the floor beneath her feet. Beneath her gaze, there is nothing but darkness, white snow swirling with the howling wind. It's hours until the morning call, hours until daylight, hours until Ramsay might return. A chill races through her, a chill that has nothing to do with the cold wind, and she slams the window closed. For a long moment, she remains standing there, staring out into the cold, dark night, wondering if out there, Jon was thinking of her. She can't say why he's come to her mind, but he's there all the same. He's been there quite often, these days. He was her last living relative, her last living sibling, though bastard born._ I too am a bastard,_ she reminds herself, sorrow drifting through her veins. _I am undeserving of his thoughts,_ she thinks with a sigh, turning from the window. She had never been unkind to him, but she had never been welcoming, either. For a moment, she's trapped in a memory so vivid, she thought it might be happening around her. There's Arya, cheering Jon on as he wrestles Robb in the courtyard, their three wolf pups watching from their places at Arya's feet. Sansa is watching them from where she stands in her chamber window- Lady asleep on the rug in front of the hearth. She wasn't a part of them, even back then she knew, but she loves them all the same. Those are her siblings, her brothers and her sister, dearly loved despite their differences, despite the anger they sometimes cause. Even in memory, she remembers thinking how much she might miss them if they were to ever part. A sigh passes from her lips and she wishes she could turn back time, she wishes she could go back to that moment. 

Just as she takes the first step back towards her bed, she hears it; the howl of a wolf.

She turns back, a gasp tearing from her lips as she pauses, silent and listening. Just the wind, she tells herself a moment later, it was just the wind. Of course it would be the wind, there were no wolves now. But then... She hears it again. A long, mournful sound that erupts goosebumps on her bruised flesh._ Ghost,_ she thinks at once, somehow knowing it was Jon's wolf that cries out to her from somewhere. For a moment, she waits, thinking perhaps she will hear a response, as if Grey Wind or Nymeria or any one of the other wolves are out there to hear him. But silence descends and the breath she's been holding releases in a cloud of white. Reaching out, she presses her palm against the frozen glass, wishing with all of her heart to hear it again. 

But there's nothing but silence, nothing but darkness. 

[ x x x ]  
  
Jon wakes from a dream of the autumn sky.

Streaks of crimson gold across a clear blue sky, a sky that he sees through the canopy of weirwood trees. As he pulls himself from the grasp of sleep, his mind drifts to a single name, a single girl._ Sansa._.. He thinks of her, of her sunset colored hair, of her eyes the color of the sky just before nightfall. She's out there somewhere, he knows, alive... Or so he hopes. The only family he has left, the only sibling left to him. He feels the familiar stab of pain, like a knife to his gut, and it's all he can do to keep from yelling out.

Rising up from his tangled furs, he crosses the room to stand at the window, the glass frosted over. He leans in, rubbing the ice away with his bare hand, uncaring of the shivers it sent down his spine. Peering out, he can see nothing but darkness, though he can hear the howling of the wind, so loud he might swear it was the howl of wolves. Across the room, Ghost raises his head from his massive paws, as if he too can hear the crying of the wind, as if he too is mistaking it for the cry of his long lost siblings._ They're gone, Ghost... As are mine._ A terrible sense of sadness washes over him and Jon must steady himself against the glass, breath catching in his throat as he fights to remain in control. 

Looking back out, he thinks he might return to his bed where at least it is warm- warmth, it is all he longs for now. But as he turns to go, he hears it; the lone howl of a wolf. He's throwing open the window then, ignoring the cold rush of air as he leans halfway out, as if he might see the wolf that calls to him. For what feels like an eternity, he hears nothing but the wind and for a moment, he thinks perhaps he's only imagined the wolf's howl. But then... It comes again, a long, mournful cry that echoes in the night, though it is a soft and gentle sound. Ghost is beside him then, whimpering softly as if he knows the howl is of a ghost he cannot chase. _Lady,_ he thinks, though he knows its strange, no it's impossible. But that soft, mournful howl belonged to Lady, a wolf long since gone from this world. 

He stands there at the window for several minutes longer, until he can see the peak of the sun on the horizon, reminding him of the early hours. A sigh escapes him and he closes the window, stepping back towards the barely burning embers in his hearth. He reaches for the poker and prods the old log until it catches again and he feeds a new one into it, holding out his hands as the fire grows. Warmth and light fills the room and he wonders if out there, wherever she was, Sansa was warm and safe. 

He can only hope.


	39. Failing Geography

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the now iconic "they failed geography" from the scripts & all the funny posts the fandom was making on tumblr.   
modern setting.

The last place on earth Sansa Stark wants to be is here in the geography room after hours. 

But she's failed yet another test and at her teacher's insistance, she's to stay after class and do some extra credit. "I have to attend the staff meeting," the older woman says as she shoulders her messenger bag. "Do those two sheets and leave them on my desk. Then you may go," she stops at the door and turns back just before she steps out into the hall. "Another student should be here any moment, he's gotta do the same sheets." Before Sansa can ask who the other student is, her teacher is gone, letting the door slam closed behind her.

Heaving a sigh, Sansa pulls the first of the worksheets towards her, fully prepared to begin matching the names of capital cities and their nations. But then the door opens, tugging her attention away from the work. She's surprised to see Jon Snow there in the room, his dark eyes meeting hers from where he stands in the doorway. "Hi," Sansa finally finds her voice, wondering why her heart has begun to beat so very fast. Since when has seeing Jon caused her to feel such a way?

She supposes she can blame it on not speaking to him in nearly a year now; Jon was her older brother, Robb's, best friend. Ever since Robb had died in the car accident last year, Jon had drifted further and further away from them. Arya still missed him. Jon had been like another brother, like a part of their pack. His mother had died when he was young and he'd never known his father, which left him to be raised in a foster home. But when he and Robb had met some years ago, he slipped into their family as if he meant to be there. 

When Robb had died the year before, seeing Jon became painful, and maybe seeing them became painful for him. A constant reminder of what they no longer had. "Hey, Sansa," Jon responds after a moment, shifting his bag from one shoulder to the other. It's been so long since he stood in the same room as her, alone, and he's forgotten what kind of magnetic pull she seemed to hold over him. Robb had always told him that he was the only guy he'd ever let near Sansa, but he wondered if he'd have felt the same if he'd known just how deeply he felt about her. "You're failing geography, too?" Jon can't stifle a chuckle when she makes a face and hangs her head, a groan escaping her rosy lips. 

"I don't see why I need to know the name of every city in Westeros or even where it is on a map." She complains as he drops into the desk beside hers, reaching out to take the two papers she offers him a moment later. "That's what GPS is for." Jon wonders if she knows that she pouts when she complains. 

Sitting so close to her, he can catch the scent of her floral perfume, the same one she wore the day he had hugged her at Robb's funeral. "I didn't think you could fail anything," Jon says after a few moments, the only sound at first the scratching of his pen as he wrote his name atop the first paper. "And with your dad being on the council, don't you travel a lot?" He remembered the many vacations he went along on over the years, though admittedly he couldn't tell you where any of those places really were. 

Sansa laughs, a twinkling sound that fills him with warmth, a sound he's not heard in some time. "Father is ashamed of me failing, I think. He says there's no way any of us kids can fail geography, we've been so many places before. But, honestly..." She lowers her voice, glancing this way and that way, as if she's worried about who might overhear them talking. "I don't think I've paid any mind to how we get anywhere ever." She laughs again and Jon joins in, recalling when they had been kids in the back of her parents car; it was true, back then Sansa had passed the long trips with fairy tale books and naps. The last time they had gone somewhere, her phone had kept her attention rather than the direction they drove. "I'm only here because my mom forced me," she adds, rolling those sapphire colored eyes, brushing her long red hair across a shoulder. "I wanted to drop the class entirely but she says I have to pass it or else." Jon knew that threat well, recalling the hundreds of times him and Robb had been threatened just like that by Catelyn Stark. She was not a woman he would ever want to piss off. 

They continue to talk as they set to work on their worksheets, passing back answers and information until finally, at long last, they finished. They both had come to the conclusion that they would probably fail this class in the end, but at least they would fail together. It was as Sansa shouldered her backpack that she turned to Jon with a faint smile. "This was nice." She admits, tilting her head as their eyes meet, her cheeks flushing with her admission. "If I'm going to fail a class, I guess I'm glad it's with you." Her eyes are brighter than ever and her smile widens as Jon grins back. 

"Yeah... Let's do this again sometime," Jon replies, hoping he sounds smooth, though he isn't sure why he wants to come across in such a way to her. 

"We do have the final in a few weeks," Sansa reminds him as they walk towards the door. "Let's do a study session. My house, say every Thursday?" Jon pauses and catches her gaze, realizing a moment too late that she's being serious. "You don't have to, of course," she goes on quickly, cheeks blooming with color as she turns away, clearly embarrassed by what she's said.

"No!" Jon cuts in with a shake of his head. "I mean, I would like that," he grins when she turns back to look at him. "Maybe we can both end up with a D." Her chuckle mingles with hers as they step into the hall, both heading the same way towards the stairs that will lead them down to the main floor. 

It's as they step out into the afternoon sunshine that they part ways- Sansa off to Margaery's and he to return home. "I'll see you around," she says with a smile, to which Jon nods. When they both reach their respective corners, they're both surprised when they turn back for a final glance that the other is already looking back. Neither knows just how warm that makes the other feel. 

Maybe failing geography was going to turn out to be a very good thing. 


	40. The hint of friendship.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i wanna ship these two

Yet again, she’s tormented by thoughts of Sansa Stark.

She is like a creature from a dream, with autumn in her hair and winter in her eyes. One glance is all it takes to unnerve her, though Daenerys can’t fathom how. She’s stood against slavers and murderers and every other awful sort of man there was and yet… When Sansa Stark shoots her a glare, she trembles. And when she smiles upon her, rare as it is, it warms her from her very core. Daenerys finds herself longing to see that smile, to hear the young woman call her_ Dany,_ like they might even be friends.

Perhaps that is how she finds herself walking Winterfell’s halls, violet eyes searching for any sign of the tall redhead. She’s learned in the few weeks since her arrival that the Lady of Winterfell prefers solitude, though her love of spending time with her siblings trumped her preference of being alone. It seems that Sansa is always on Jon’s arm or with the younger two, Arya and Bran, though she’s yet to be privy to any of the Stark children’s conversations. She doesn’t suppose she can blame them, of course, she is an outsider after all. Jon had warned her that the North did not take kindly to strangers and the Stark siblings were no exception to that.

Stepping out a door she knows leads up to the battlements, Daenerys tugs her furs closer, climbing the stairs until she reaches the top. Across the way, at the furtherst side, she sees her. Sansa stands with her bare hands on the railing, leaning in as she gazes out across the vast expanse of forest that borders Winterfell. Her cloaks hood hangs down her back, revealing that vivid red hair and for a moment, Daenerys cannot move nor catch her breath. She finds that she longs to feel it between her fingers, absently wondering if it is as soft as it looks. There is a storm that hides beneath the tranquil stance of her body, sapphire eyes raging when they turn to look upon her as she quietly approaches where she stands. For a long moment, Sansa says nothing at all, but rather regards her carefully, as if she’s uncertain of what Dany’s intentions are. She’s seen this look before, numerous times now. Jon had not told her everything, but Dany cannot blame the young woman for being so untrusting of the world and the people around her. “Your grace,” she finally says, somewhat stiffly, before she turns back to face the way she had been.

“Lady Stark,” Dany responds, coming up so she might stand beside her. Silence descends and she wishes she could find the words to say. She only wishes to find friendship with this young woman, though Lady Stark is proving to be quite the difficult heart to win over. Rather than force a conversation, she follows Sansa’s line of sight, staring out into the forest she’s never stepped foot into yet. Somewhere, in the distance, a wolf howls. The long, mournful sound sends chills down her spine and it’s only then that she feels Sansa’s movements as she turns back to look at her.

“It’s quite cold today, you should return inside if it bothers you.” She doesn’t sound angry, she sounds almost… Concerned.

“You are quite unbothered by the cold,” Daenerys remarks, also turning so she might look her in the face.

A smile twitches on Sansa’s lips before she tosses another glance towards the forest. “I don’t feel the cold anymore,” she replies quietly, a darkness settling into her eyes that cuts Daenerys deep into her heart. A darkness that is cold, a darkness that is fear. “I jumped from this wall, you know.” Sansa goes on, surprising Daenerys with her honesty. Daenerys’ eyes widen as she looks from Sansa down to the ground, the height of the wall quite tall making Daenerys wonder what could have made her do such a thing. Perhaps she had been a rambunctious child, perhaps one of her brothers had dared her to do such a thing. When she opens her mouth, it’s to ask her why she would do such a thing. “To escape.” Sansa replies, her voice like steel, her eyes like ice. Dany is stricken by her honesty yet again, for she would not think Sansa Stark would ever speak so freely with her. A sigh escapes Sansa’s rosy lips and she turns away again, as if she cannot face her, her grip on the railing tightening. “I was so cold that day,” she says as she recalls that first step into the icy river, like a thousand knives piercing her flesh. “After that…” She chuckles, a sharp sound that is anything but humorous. “Nothing ever felt cold again.” 

When Sansa looks back at the dragon queen, she’s surprised by the look upon her lovely features. Those violet eyes are wide, uncertain, her plump lips poised in a frown as she thinks about the words Sansa’s so suddenly spoken. She hates how soft the queen looks, standing there in the light snow, pieces of her silver hair falling to frame her porcelain face. “I’m sorry,” Sansa shakes her head, sapphire eyes blinking. “I’ve said too much.”

“No, in truth I… I am glad you speak so freely to me, Lady Stark.” Daenerys says with a shake of her own head. “I meant what I said… That I wish for us to be friends.” She hopes Sansa hears the sincerity in her voice and she must, for she smiles and it transforms her. “We are allies in a world where men would like to see us beneath them. But you and I… We are beneath no man.” Sansa’s smile is different this time and Daenerys cannot stop her heart from leaping at the sight of it. “Lady Stark…”

“Sansa.” Sansa cuts in, extending the offer for the Targaryen queen to call her by her given name.

“Sansa…” She tests the name upon her lips, it sounds just as right as it feels in her heart. “I will only call you Sansa if you call me Daenerys,” she says after a moment, a smile yet again curving on her mouth. For a moment the young woman is silent, shifting uncomfortably as she glances left and then right before allowing her sapphire gaze to once again settle upon the dragon queen. This was a young woman raised in a world where propriety was everything- where one wrong move could change everything. This was a young woman who did not trust easily, who had no real friends in a world full of men who saw her for nothing more than a title. This was a young woman who deserved a true friend, a true friend that Daenerys knew she could be to her.

It takes only a moment longer before Sansa smiles, cheeks flushing pink as her lips part and she speaks softly. “Daenerys,” her vocals sound oh-so sweet speaking her name and Dany feels her heart skip a beat at the way Sansa articulates the syllables of her name. “I would like that, too,” she finally admits, cheeks plunging into an even deeper shade of pink. It’s been so long since she had something even remotely close to a friend. She thinks of Jeyne, long since lost to her, married off and safe from the war that brews. She thinks of Margaery, dead at the hands of Cersei’s cruelty. She thinks of Shae, who’s she’s not seen since that last day in King’s Landing and Sansa is uncertain if she even yet lived. “To be friends, I mean.” She clarifies and Daenerys cannot help but to smile.

She extends a hand then and Sansa’s grips it a moment later, her skin surprisingly warm through the leather of Daenerys’ gloves. If she feels the same spark that Dany does, she does well to hide it, but it is almost enough to stop Dany’s beating heart.

Suddenly, the air around her feels much warmer and deep inside of her, she feels a flicker of hope. Hope that Sansa will come to trust her, to believe in her. Daenerys thinks of what a powerful alliance they would have in one another- the most powerful women of Westeros. They would be a dazzling pair- the dragon and the wolf queens. It is beyond a thought, Dany realizes, it is a vision of the future to come.

Somehow she knows, this is only the beginning. 


	41. The Taste of Heartache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quick warm up piece, set the night before jon goes to king's landing.   
a fix it drabble for season 8.

The taste of heartache tingles on his lips. 

It's sharp and sweet, the taste of her, and it lingers long after he's drawn back from her. "I don't want you to go," is all she whispers, her voice a thread in the darkness of the night. They stand beneath the heart tree, the canopy of trees overhead just barely allowing slivers of moonlight in. She glows in it, the soft silvery moonglow illuminates her like a goddess and all he can do is pull her in closer. "I'm afraid..." Her voice is muffled as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder, her hands clutching the furs at his back. 

"I'll come back to you, Sansa, I promise," he murmurs into her hair, stroking the long red length of it that cascades down her back. "And when I come back..." She raises her face back up to meet his and he smiles for her, the sight of it bringing one to her own rosy lips. "When I come back..." His forehead meets hers and his lips hover so close that he can feel the warmth of every breath she takes. "I want to stay beside you, if you'll have me... Your grace." They've already talked at length about what's going to happen next. Bran told both of them the truth only hours ago and she's accepted her fate quite readily. 

Her laugh is soft and slow, one of her hands reaching up to toy with a stray curl of his, sapphire eyes gleaming in the moonlight from above. "I'll always have you." She thinks of every moment she's spent with this man- his protective arms around her, shielding her from her nightmares. His hands bruised and bleeding from every punch he gave to the monster that had taken their home from them, but still how gently those hands touched her. Warmth rushes through her and she knows she is loved as she always wished to be. Jon loves her, not her title, not her name. He loves her and that's more than enough. "But still... You must be careful." 

Jon kisses her then, a slow kiss that weakens her knees. "I will be," he promises when he finally breaks the kiss, her taste sweeter than before. If it were up to him, he would never again stray from her side, but this... 

This was his destiny, just as the crown was hers. 


	42. Davos finds his queen a husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos is really tired of dealing with Sansa's suitors. So he goes and finds one of his own for the queen.  
Inspired by a tumblr post.

_Another bloody raven. _

Frustration rushes through him as he unrolls the scroll, yet another high born Lord writing with a wish to marry his oldest son to the Queen in the North. Davos sighs, tossing the scroll onto the pile of all the others that had come that week and returned to rubbing his aching temples. If it wasn't a request for a son, it was a request from a Lord, and they came daily. Davos was certain he has never read so many scrolls in all his life and he's beginning to grow quite tired of them. Even now, so late into the night, he's left reading through them as if it mattered, as if his queen would ever settle for any one of them. 

"Another one, my lord?" 

He jumps to his feet at the sound of the voice, lifting his eyes to his smiling queen. If you had asked Davos a few short months ago if he'd ever be serving a Stark queen, he would have told you only if she was married to his king, Jon Snow. In truth, he had seen the passion between Jon Snow and his now queen, despite their familial ties. He had seen the way Jon fiercely protected her and the way Sansa had looked at him as if he strung the sun and stars in the sky. "Aye, your grace," he says with a quick bow, though Sansa waves him back to his chair, crossing the room to join him at the table. "This one from a Lord Dormund, asking to pledge his oldest son and heir to you in marriage." 

The queen sighs, shaking her head. Ever since her coronation, the ravens had begun to arrive one by one, some days more than one. She knew as queen, it was her duty to marry for the sake of the kingdom, and yet... She felt it, the ever familiar twinge of pain at the thought of marrying someone that wasn't him. Davos sees the pain on her face, he always does, and he feels sorrow for this young, lonely queen. A beautiful young woman, newly crowned, she should have been living in a time of happiness. And yet- she lived in a world of duty and sorrow. The war was over, peace was reigning, and this queen was still yet unhappy. All because she could not have the one man she loved most. Jon would have been good to her, Davos knew that, he loved her well already that much was certain. But now that they were free to be together, their sibling ties cast aside, they were forced apart yet again by royal decree. "I am sorry you're so relentlessly bothered by this." 

Davos had told her a few times that Jon's fate was in her own hands, being the Northern queen and all. But her answer was always the same: Jon will come home when he's ready. And so she did not write to him, she did not beg; she was a proud lady, through it all. "There is no need for apologies," Davos replies with a quick shake of his head. He had grown to care for this charming, quick witted queen. He could see why Jon loved her, why all of the North loved her. "I am honored to take care of things for you, your grace," he speaks with honesty, watching as her face blooms with a smile. "Even chasing away over zealous suitors." He can't help but to want to see her smile.

She chuckles and rises from her chair, gesturing for him to remain where he sat. "You are a good Hand, Ser Davos. I can see why Jon spoke so highly of you." Davos' eyes widen slightly and he bows his head at the compliment, looking up only when he hears her footsteps crossing the room. "Good night, Ser Davos." 

"Good night, your grace." Davos watched her leave, black skirts swirling with her every step, and he knows at once the only way to make this queen happy was to bring her the man she loved. And so he would, even if he had to tie him to his horse. 

[ x x x ]

"Open the gate!" 

Jon hears the cry from the guards tower and he squints, looking out his window to the courtyard below. He watches as a cloaked man comes riding through the now open gate and before he lowers his hood, Jon knows who it is. He pulls on his old, well worn cloak and descends the stairs, coming to stand in the courtyard as Davos climbs down from his horse. "Davos!" Jon says with surprise, striding forward to embrace the older man, feeling his hand clap him upon the shoulder in greeting. "What's brought you to Castle Black?" He asks, gesturing for Davos to follow after him, meaning to lead him up to where he can warm himself beside the fire.

"To bring you back," Davos says, reaching out to grab Jon's arm, forcing him back around. "It's time you return to Winterfell." He releases Jon's arm but his gaze never strays from his eyes. "Your queen needs you." Jon's eyes widens slightly at his words, worry now coursing through his veins. "If you love her, you will come. Suitors write daily and it won't be long before the right one comes along. Be the right one." Jon blinks, taking a step back as if he means to turn away, but Davos' words are ringing in his ears. Be the right one. "If you don't come freely, I will drag you back, Jon Snow." Davos suddenly says, his tone far more fierce than it had been a moment ago. "If I must open another scroll from another unworthy Lord, I will lose my bloody mind." 

At his last statement, Jon laughs, reaching up to touch his wild curls, grown unruly in his months of living with the Free Folk. "It sounds to me like this is more for you than it is for Sansa." Jon replies, but Davos shakes his head, suddenly growing somber.

"She is lonely, Jon. A lonely woman is easy to coerce. Will you let her marry unhappily yet again?" Davos feels somewhat guilty for using this against Jon, when in truth Sansa would more than likely remain unmarried for all her life if Jon doesn't come back with him. The endless ravens... The endless suitors... Her endless loneliness... It would all be solved if Jon just came back with him. "You can come of your own free will or I will drag you back, the choice is yours." 

It's only a few hours later that Jon is climbing onto his own horse, Ghost already trotting out the gates in the direction of Winterfell. Beside him, Davos swings onto his horse and together they ride out, back towards home. Davos smiles to himself as he thinks of the ravens he will surely soon be sending out, ceasing the suitors endless writing.

_The Queen in the North is to be married. _


	43. Father, help me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at her lowest point, sansa seeks guidance from her father... even if it's just a statue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
abuse mentions

When he touched her, she felt sick.

It mattered not what sort of touch it was- a chaste kiss before the servants or the hard punch to her abdomen when they were alone in their chamber. All of it sickened her to her very core. Sansa had never once imagined that her life could ever have been worse than it had been in King's Landing with Joffrey... But here, here in Winterfell, her own family home, life was worse than it had ever been. She had watched her father's head get cut from his body, had been forced to view it on a pike, and had been abused by the teenage king and his court for what had felt like an entire lifetime. But none of that could compare to what Ramsay had done to her in their short time together. 

On this particular morning she woke alone in her great bed though the memory of the night before still yet clung to her. Shifting, Sansa could not help but to utter a little cry, so painful was her body from all Ramsay had done that night. Pushing the fur coverlet away from her, Sansa stared down at her body beneath her night gown, carefully pulling it up so she might inspect the newest of her injuries. She winced as her fingertips brushed across the newly formed bruise on her left hip, her eyes drifting along the healing bruises across her long, shapely legs. It seemed as if every inch of her was covered in the remnants of an injury. Well every inch of her aside from her face, of course.

A sigh escaped her and Sansa swung her legs over the side of the bed, allowing her nightgown to fall back into place a moment before there came a loud knock upon her chamber door. Without waiting for an answer, the door opened and in came the woman who dressed her every day, an old woman who rarely spoke beyond a morning greeting. Though the woman looked upon her with sympathetic eyes, Sansa dared not ask for her help; Ramsay had frightened nearly everyone in the North into submission. His people had witnessed his brutality to everyone, including his new wife, and so none dared cross him. Not that she could blame them. 

"My lady," the old woman, Agatha was her name, said before heading straight across the room to where several of Sansa's gowns hung, reaching for the best of them all. "Lord Bolton has requested your presence at the announcement of his newly born son." The old woman turned back to the young woman on the bed, who's eyes had widened, mouth falling open in slight surprise. 

Ramsay had come to her angry the night before, though he'd not spoken of the reasoning, rather he'd taken it out on her. Now, she understood. His fear of being usurped by an infant had come true, if his father's bride truly had birthed a son. Unable to help herself, Sansa smiled as she rose up from the bed, suddenly feeling less pained and much happier than she'd felt in weeks. "Indeed, I should like to honor the birth of my husband's new baby brother." 

Perhaps this was the miracle she'd been waiting for. 

[ x x x ]

She should have known better. 

Before supper that next day, Ramsay had killed them all. His father, his stepmother, as well as his newborn brother were all dead before darkness fell. Ramsay had stabbed his own father and fed the woman and child to his dogs. Of course, no one would say that was what had happened to the Bolton's, but Sansa knew... She knew because Ramsay had boasted of his triumphs that same night when he joined her in her chamber. And now as she lay there in bed beside him, Sansa wondered if this was to be the end for her. Now, Ramsay would be as good as King of the North, and she would never find a way out.

Well, there was always a way out, she supposed, and death seemed much more enticing than her current situation. Sitting up, Sansa carefully slipped from beneath the blankets, pausing only a moment when Ramsay murmured in his sleep. Tugging on her robe, she then drew her cloak on over that and quietly slipped from the room. 

Her tired, aching legs maneuvered her through the dark and empty corridors and Sansa could not help but to recall her childhood in these walls. The place she'd once called home was now a dark and distant place- a place she once loved, she now abhorred, all because of the man she called husband. He had stolen from her more than her innocence and what little happiness was left within her. No, he'd stolen from her the home she'd loved and tainted Winterfell forevermore. How could she walk these halls and sleep in these chambers without recalling all she'd suffered within them? 

It was but a few minutes later that Sansa found herself down in the crypts below Winterfell, standing before the statue of her father. His somber stone face looked down at her and Sansa closed her eyes, shame rushing through her, for how dare she stand before him as she was doing. It was her fault what had happened to him, after all. Tears formed in her eyes though she fought desperately against them and Sansa clenched her hands into fists. "Father, what am I to do?" She whispered miserably into the dark, opening her eyes then to stare up at her father's face. "I am so scared..." She spoke the words aloud she'd not once allowed herself to speak. "Please father, just tell me what I am to do..." Her whispered plea echoed across the crypt as if she'd shouted them and she closed her eyes again, the cold air seeping into her veins despite the warm cloak around her shoulders. 

_Jon...._ The answer came so softly that Sansa could not dare to believe she had heard them. A choked gasp escaped her as she shot her gaze back up, half expecting her father's statue to have come to life. It had been his voice that she had heard, truly... Not just her imagination, truly she had heard him speak! _Jon..._ The single name he spoke that of her half-brother, Jon, who she knew to be the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He would be the only person in the world to help her now. Sansa felt her heart quicken its pace and she clutched her cloak a little bit tighter around herself, knowing she had to return to her chamber before Ramsay woke to find her gone. But now she understood, now she knew her only way out from Ramsay's clutches didn't have to be death.

  
She would escape from Ramsay and from Winterfell and she'd not set foot back within its walls until it belonged to House Stark yet again.


	44. Soul Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this might have been on a prompt list or something, i cant remember now.

She has tasted love before, but only for a moment; it was as fleeting as it was beautiful, something other worldly. Something too pure for her to touch, too perfect for her to hold onto. But even just a moment of it was enough to fill her up, to make her whole once again. 

Love was the way he spoke her name when they were alone. Love was the way it felt when he slipped his arms around her. Love was the way his eyes darkened when he spoke of protecting her from those who would do her harm. Love was fighting with him, breath catching, heart hammering fights that left them not angry but longing for more. Love was pushing each other to the edge, but always being there to catch the other when they fell. 

Jon was love and love was Jon. 

She would have followed him to the ends of the world and back again, if he had only asked. And he would have fetched her the moon and the sun and the stars from the very sky, if she had only wished it. She knows the depth of his feelings though he's never spoken them aloud, she simply knows. He was always one step behind her, always in the line of fire of narrow, violet eyes. He was always there at her side when doubt filled her mind, reminding her that in the end, their paths always collided. Every time she thought they drifted apart, he was there to remind her they were even closer than ever before. Every time she thought he loved another above her, he was there to remind her that it was she that he adored, even if it was in secret. Soul mates, one might call it, though she isn't sure. This life was the only one she had yet to live, so she knew not if they had met before, though sometimes it felt so. 

The sound of her name returns her to the present and she turns, smiling when she finds him standing there in her room. As if all her thoughts of him had conjured him to her side, he stood there as if it was where he was meant to be. And it was. There was no place for him but beside her, through it all, to the ends of this life and into the next, it would be where he always stood. 

_Soul mates,_ she thought with a soft chuckle as she fell into his arms, _perhaps so. _


	45. Let me take care of you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more jonsa post theon's death. because im obsessed.

Her heart is so very heavy.

She spends what feels like a lifetime sewing wounds and cleaning burns; the stench of burning flesh is imprinted upon her, a scent she will not soon forget. Sewing bleeding wounds is quite like sewing silk, though she prefers the fabrics that do not cry out with every touch of her needle. She spends hours ensuring the survivors are fixed and fed and warm. She does not stop until the last person is looked over and even then, it is not to her rooms that she goes, but into a room where a single body is laid out on the table. 

Theon is still and cold, as she knows he would be. Her heart aches with renewed pain as she approaches his side, her hand reaching out to tenderly touch his cheek. I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa... If you'll have me. Those had been the words he said to her. He had not said I want to die for Winterfell, he had said he wanted to fight. But he had died and left her there alone. 

And though she wants to do nothing but drop into a chair or even a bed and close her eyes, she moves across the room to grab the pot that hangs in the hearth. She takes hold of it and steps back out into the cold, biting air, filling it until she can no more with snow. And then she returns it to the hearth, kneeling down to strike the old embers with flint until they catch and a fire burns to life before her eyes. When the snow has turned to hot water, she pours a pitcher full of it and returns to the table where Theon lays. 

In silence, she begins to undress him one limb at a time, until he is naked besides a modesty covering. And then she begins to clean him of the blood and the grime of war. When she's finished, she redresses him and only then... Only then does she sink into the chair that sits beside the table, unaware of just how many hours have passed since she had first walked up from the crypts after the end of the battle. 

That is where Jon finds her only a short while later. 

He had been sent to a room to rest, his injuries treated and a sleeping draught given, and when he'd woke his first thought had been of her. And so he had gone off to find her, knowing he had last seen her among the surviving soldiers, painstakingly sewing closed a man's wound. But now she is in a spare room, seated beside the table where Theon lays. He's quiet in his approach, so quiet that she does not look up until he's beside her. "Jon..." Her voice is a thread. "You're supposed to be resting." 

Jon takes this moment to drink in the sight of her; she's pale and looks like she might drop at any moment from exhaustion, but she's alive. She's alive. His eyes flicker from her to Theon and he takes note of his clean, bathed body, and he knows she's done this for him. "Sansa..." He speaks her name as his gaze swivels back to her face. Tears are gathering in her eyes for the first time and he knows it's taking every ounce of her self control to keep from falling apart. So he reaches for her, pulling her to her feet and straight into his embrace. Her every sob breaks his heart, knowing that Theon had been important to her. They had suffered together, they had escaped together, they had overcame together. And now, he was gone, taking with him a piece of her. 

She cries until she can cry no more, until whatever little bit of energy was left in her body dissipates. Jon feels her sagging against him and though he is battered from war, he lifts her into his arms despite her protests. "Let me take care of you," he whispers as he carries her towards the door, uncaring of who might see them. She falls silent, her head resting against his strong, warm shoulder, her weight nothing in his grip. He carries her down the hall and into the room he had been occupying only a short time before. Into the bed he'd once slept in does he place her, thanking the universe that he has her to still hold onto, that he can still worry over her because that means she's alive. She struggles up, as if she means to get up, but he gently pushes her back against his pillow. "Rest," he murmurs softly, his hand moving from her shoulder to gently touch her cheek. Her sapphire eyes meet his and for a single moment, they understand one another perfectly. 

And it's only then that she sinks back against the pillow and closes her eyes. Jon knows she's asleep a few moments later and relief rushes through him. He cannot imagine what grief she must feel- not just for Theon, but for witnessing her ancestors, her family rising from their graves and claiming lives. He had sent her and the others down to the crypts for their own safety, but had nearly sent them all to their deaths. Jon cannot stop himself from reaching out his hand, brushing a lock of red hair from her face. He swallows and pulls back, instead focusing upon ensuring she was covered well by the fur lined blanket on the bed. She was safe and she was warm... And that was all he could ask for. 

It was all he could be thankful for. 


	46. the queen that never bent.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a season 8, canon divergent oneshot. it started out as drunk rambles i figured id never finish. but, finally, it’s done. 
> 
> told with the premise of: political jon, jon not keeping his family in the dark, and bran seeing the ultimate outcome of things & telling his siblings about it.

She's soft and she's warm, the taste of her lingers upon his lips.

"Jon." Breathless. Her hands clutch the front of his shirt, his furs and leather cast aside hours before. "Please, don't go-" He silences her with a kiss, quick and telling, when he draws away from her she's steel eyes and a furrowed brow. "I mean it," softer still, the truth a wedge between them.

"I have to," he whispers back, wishing with all of his heart that they might escape, run away to a world without war... Without death. "You know what I must do." Blue eyes meet gray and she blinks quickly, as if she's forcing back tears. "I can't let her become-"

It's her turn to silence him, a finger to his lips, a simple shake of her red head. "Don't say it," she says, though she means anyone could be listening. They are no longer safe, though Sansa supposes she's not been safe in years. "You don't have to do this." They both know she doesn't speak of Daenerys and Jon smiles in spite of himself, shrugging.

"Yes I do." Her eyes widen, tongue darting out to sweep across her lip, enticing him even now. _How does she do that? _"I made a promise to you, Sansa. I made a promise to the North." She's reminded of those days, of those persistent echos of _I'll protect you, I promise._ He's done more than just protect her, he's saved her. "Besides you..." He trails off, looking away, so she catches his face between her palms. The words left unspoken are a wedge between them, though her smile is sweet, her blue eyes understanding. "You're giving up the North."

"But I'm leaving it in good hands." She reminds him, bringing a grin to his face. Her words are those he once spoke to her, a day that now feels like a lifetime ago. "After all this time, they deserve their King in the North who's name is Stark." This time he chuckles and so does she, her heart light and yet so very full. It seems like a different life, the one she's left behind. A new war looms ahead and yet... She feels no fear.

"I'm not a Stark." He quips back and she slips into his arms.

"You are to me," she breathes against his skin, trailing the hollow of his throat with her lips as his hands slide into her hair.

[ x x x ]

It's stopped snowing.

In the days since the fight with the Night King, the snow has lessened little by little, until this very morning when she woke to a strangely clear sky. She had stood dazed in the courtyard, the winter sun warm against the exposed skin of her face. Warm... How strange, to feel the warm sun again.

Now she stands on the battlements, watching as what remains of the dragon queen's army marches from Winterfell. Drogon screeches overhead, the silver haired queen atop his back; she casts a backwards glance towards the Lady of Winterfell before she surges forward, soaring South towards the throne she thinks she's to reclaim. She looks away from the dragon as it flies away down to where she sees Jon, far ahead at the start of the marching army, already nearly out of her sight. Her heart twists and she turns, heading back inside, discarding her furs and cloak into her chambers before stepping back out.

In the main hallway, just outside the dining hall, she finds Lord Royce.

"My lady," he greets in his distinct tenor voice, offering a bow and Sansa smiles upon him, this most loyal of her Lord's.

"Prepare for a journey to King's Landing." She says without hesitation and Lord Royce sputters at her request. "Ensure we are prepared to go at any moment, I will give you the word when it is time." Lord Royce stares at her for a long moment, but there is trust in his gaze and understanding in his smile when he nods.

"Of course, my lady." He replies with another bow, taking his leave of her to do as she bids.

Sansa watches him go and knows now, all she can do is wait.

[ x x x ]

The knock on her door is soft but Ghost raises his head from his paws at the sound.

When it opens, Bran and Arya are coming into the room, her younger siblings joining her where she sits before the fire, Brienne standing quietly in the corner. Arya sinks to the floor beside Ghost, at once running her hand through his shaggy fur. Bran fixes her with his strange, stoic gaze and Sansa finds she must look away. "It is time," he says a moment later and Sansa looks back up in surprise, blue eyes widening as she peers back at her brother. "They've reached King's Landing." Sansa nods and at once, Brienne excuses herself from the room, off to find Lord Royce and inform him it is time to leave as their lady requested.

"Are you certain this is what you want?" It's Arya.

Sansa turns to face her sister and her heart softens, her lips curving with a fond smile. This sister she had thought she would never understand, never be close with. This was the sister who pulled her hair and ruined her gowns. This was the sister who slew a man at her request, this was the sister that saved them all. She reaches out, unable to stop herself from running her fingertips across the still fading bruise on her sister's face. "I always wanted to be queen." Sansa chuckles when she draws back, though Arya's gaze burns into hers. "And Jon..." _I would do anything for, Jon. _She can't say that. "This is what's best for the realm." She says instead.

"The realm?" Arya scoffs, but she doens't pry. Sansa and Jon will tell her their truth on their own terms, she supposes. Besides, isn't she hiding Gendry from them? "Fine. But I won't wear a dress to your coronation." She's on her feet, brushing the stray white hairs from her dark, Stark colored clothes. For a moment, the two sisters share a smile and it's as if they are children again, two sides of the same coin, one rising like the moon, the other setting like the sun.

They are family, they are a pack, no matter what way the winds blow.

[ x x x ]

King's Landing is in ruins.

Sitting there in the dragonpit, among the other nobles, she can feel her heart begin to race. A few seats down, Yara Greyjoy glares daggers, but Sansa has faced worse. Tyrion stands before them in chains and Sansa wonders what the imp would say if her first action as queen was to have him executed for treason. He will have his pardon, she supposes, but will live closely under her watch for the remainder of his days. "You all are the most powerful people in all of Westeros, aren't you?" Tyrion is speaking and she returns her full attention back to him as he speaks. "Choose your king. Choose wisely and perhaps this realm will finally know peace." He means to say he already knows of a candidate, but Edmure Tully is on his feet after several beats of silence, fully prepared to speak his bid to the group.

"Uncle," Sansa cuts in and the man turns to face her steely gaze. "Sit down."

He does.

"There is one..." Tyrion begins, yet again drawing the attention to himself. "There's one among you who perhaps might be the most logical choice of them all. A ruler with a kind heart, yet a firm belief in what's right." He's taking a few steps forward, his gaze sweeping from every face until it falls upon Sansa's face. "They will call her the Red Wolf of Winterfell, the Queen that Never Bent." Now he stands before her, speaking the words she's been waiting for him to say. He speaks every word that Bran said he would and though she's had them memorized for days, they still surprise her.

Another wave of silence falls but one by one, slowly, agonizingly slow, heads begin to nod. The silence is only broken by Brienne rising from her seat on Sansa's left side, the creaking of wood the only sound in the air. And then Arya is side stepping around from where she stands behind her and together, the two women take to a knee before the woman they will most ardently call queen. Sansa's breath catches when Lord Royce kneels next, followed at once by Ser Davos and Gendry. There is only one person who does not kneel, but Sansa didn't expect Yara to bend. Not yet. She recalls that same fierceness in Theon and her heart aches.

"You have chosen your queen, now you must choose Jon Snow's fate." 

Grey Worm's voice is sharp as steel and all eyes swivel back to face him as they return to their places, though both Brienne and Arya hover behind her shoulders, hands on hilts. "Jon Snow will return North," Sansa speaks for the first time as their chosen queen and a hush falls among those who whispered. "He and I took back the North from the Bolton's, we reclaimed it as ours. It belongs to House Stark and always will." She rules without protest, which surprises her. "You and your men may stay in our realm if you mean peace, but if you don't..." She tilts her head, blue eyes glaring in the sunlight. "Then you will regret not leaving when you had the chance." Grey Worm regards her for a moment, but against this she-wolf with her red hair tied into war braids, with eyes like ice, he has no chance. And so he nods. "Release him." She now gestures towards Tyrion and though he hesitates a moment, Grey Worm unlocks the shackles around the imp's wrists.

"Thank you," he says softly, bringing his blue eyes up to meet hers.

She doesn't answer.

"Take me to him." She rises up from her chair and stalks towards the man beside him instead, though both Arya and Brienne are on her heels. "Take me to Jon." Grey Worm grunts a response through frowning lips before he turns his back to her and begins to walk back towards what remained of the Red Keep.

When the door to his cell opens, Jon is certain it's her.

She comes into the room and at once he's on his feet, the pull of his embrace sweeping her off of her feet. "I was beginning to worry," he jokes when she's on her feet again, her rosy lips curved with the most radiant of smiles. His hair is wild and his beard overgrown, but he's healthy and he's alive. There is a healing cut above his right eye, a bruise fading into his hairline that she can't help but to brush her fingers against. He catches her fingers with his own, drawing them to his lips for a kiss. The warmth of his lips against her skin lingers long after she's drawn her hand back.

"It's time to go home." She says with a smile and Jon nods, knowing there was no where else he wanted to go.

[ x x x ]

As twilight falls the first night back in Winterfell, they marry beneath the canopy of weirwood trees in the godswood. It was the only thing they could do that made sense now, in the aftermath of everything, it was the only thing that felt right.

When they've settled themselves into their chamber, she's like a dream come true. Standing there in just her soft, white nightgown, with her red hair spilling down her back... He can barely believe that this is real. For the first time in a lifetime or two, he feels excitement about what is to come. "Come to bed, wife," he calls out and she turns to face him with a chuckle, her cheeks twin blooms of color. But she comes as she's been bid, sinking down onto the edge of the bed that Jon lays sprawled out upon. He reaches for her hand and tugs her down to him, snaking his arm around her thin frame and pulling her as close as he can. She snuggles in against him, chin tucked into the space between his shoulder and neck, her body warm against his despite the thin layer of clothes between them. "I have dreamed of this," he admits in a whisper as he runs his hand along the outline of her body, stopping only when he reaches her hip. "I have dreamed of you." It was Sansa that he's been waiting for all of his life. It was Sansa that rescued him, it was Sansa that breathed new life into him. It was Sansa that had given him purpose, that had given him life.

She's blushing again and he tilts her head back so he might kiss her, a long but sweet kiss that fills her to the brim with warmth. With hope.

It's all she's ever wanted.

[ x x x ]

King's Landing is full of ghosts but she pushes past them, one by one, until she stands in what remained of the throne room. Her first order as queen had not been Tyrion Lannister's execution, but rather the rebuilding of the town, the Red Keep would come later. They kneel in the streets for her, swearing fealty to the girl that they remember from the days of Joffrey Baratheon. They praise her kind heart and she isn't certain she deserves their devotion, though she smiles and waves to them when she steps outside the palace walls a few times a day, just to ensure the rebuild is going as planned.

What was left of the Iron Throne was a solidified puddle of iron, melted down by Drogon before he had fled King's Landing with his mother's body. She supposes they might never know the truth of where Drogon took Daenerys, but they will keep close watch on Drogon to ensure the beast causes no harm wherever he goes.

"What will you sit upon now?"

She turns at the sound of the voice and it is Tyrion approaching her, still sporting his beard, though his hair has been tamed again. "I am told Gendry works tirelessly to ensure a new one is made." She had hoped to do without a clunky, iron throne of her own, but she supposes if she's to be Queen of the Iron Throne, she needs one to sit upon. As Tyrion steps up to stand beside her, she turns back to the dais with a sigh.

It's been many years since she stood in this place and she had hoped it would feel more empowering to stand where she once stood as the victim, but now stands as a queen. As a survivor. In truth, it feels a lot more hollow than she had hoped. "It's strange, isn't it?" She casts a glance towards Tyrion, who like Sansa, has lost himself in a memory of this room. "To be standing here again, with you, with me. I had thought I might never truly see this place again."

Sansa can't help to smirk. "Would you not have returned with your dragon queen?" Her stare is icy cold when she turns to the imp, facing him fully. "Or perhaps you did not believe in her as deeply as you say you did." Tyrion's face is impassive, but his green eyes widen slightly before a smile flits across his deformed features, as if there is a silent understanding between them.

"I should like to serve you." Tyrion says, wishing what she said had been truth- he had believed in Daenerys Targaryen and that was why it hurt so much to see things turn out the way that they had. His queen had not been the one who burned King's Landing that day, his queen had been left behind in Essos, his queen had long since been dead to him. "If you will have me, that is."

She wonders what it is about men and saying such a thing to her. For a moment, her heart aches with the memory of Theon, but she pushes past it with a wave of her hand. "I already have a Hand to the Queen," she reminds him, thinking of Lord Royce, who has served her well all this time. "And the council has already been filled," she adds, turning to step away, fully prepared to exit the room. But she pauses, turning back to face the imp once more. This man to whom she had once been wed- a man that had ultimately, always been kind to her. A man she knows is intelligent, witty, a man to keep around despite all that has happened. "But I suppose... There could be some use for you here. You may stay, but displease me and I will ensure Shae punishes you." Her rosy lips curl with a daunting smile before she turns and heads towards the door which leads out into the main hall, where he can see Brienne of Tarth there to greet her.

He breathes with relief, knowing he has been given his one chance at mercy.

[ x x x ]

On the morning of her coronation, she's standing in the throne room once more, but this time she is not alone.

She stands on the dais, her throne behind her, with a sea of faces staring back at her. In the crowd, she sees Jon, she sees Arya and Bran. Lord Royce stands at the forefront, misty eyed and smiling, watching with a heart full of fondness for the young woman he will call queen. Beside him, there's Brienne of course, her ever loyal sword and shield, who has stood beside her without fail since that day she escaped from Winterfell. Even Shae stands among the crowd, smiling as tears roll down her cheeks, beyond proud, beyond happy, to be reunited with her.

As she sinks onto her throne for the first time- beautifully and delicately crafted in iron, quite unlike the clunky mess of swords that it had been before. Now, it showcases wolves running beneath a canopy of weirwood trees across the back, there are even wolves wrought into the iron arm rests, so detailed that Sansa swears it must have been made with magic, not human hands. Behind her, she swears she can feel the soft touch of a hand to her either shoulder, and somehow, she knows who stands there. The touch is so gentle she might have missed it, but she knows it's her mother... It's her father. The ghosts of her family linger behind her, she can feel each of them, for even Robb and Rickon are there. She closes and her eyes and sucks in a breath, knowing they are gone when she opens her eyes once again.

That's when the cry comes, soft at first, until every voice in the room is chanting along.

_Long live the Queen!_

And so her reign has begun. 


	47. in the darkness of night, you are the hand that calms my fears.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when sansa wakes from a nightmare of her past, she’s alone. 
> 
> at least… that’s how it seems.

The room is spinning.

It's dark and it's cold, the shadows seem to come alive as she circles the space, over and over again until surely her legs will give out. No matter where she goes, no matter how she hides, these monsters... These demons... They come for her. The fire has died in the hearth but she pays it no mind- she's not felt the ache of the cold in weeks. In months. 

The strength she had found again in Winterfell is fading fast. 

Weeks have passed since Jon left for Dragonstone and while lately she's been dreaming of dragon fire and howling wolves, tonight she's dreamed a different sort of dream. One she's not had for many weeks, months even. It's the first time she's lost control like this without Jon there to offer his warm, quiet comfort. How many times had she climbed into bed beside him, too frightened to sleep again on her own? How many times had he simply known she needed him, coming to her door at even the latest of hours? Jon had understood her and her pain- he had known when she needed to be held, had known when she simply needed him near. 

Now she was alone. 

At her door, she suddenly hears scratching, like nails against the wood, louder than the sound of her racing heart. She stops, stock still, holding her breath as she listens intently for the sound to come again. It does. Crossing the room, Sansa opens the door and feels a wave of relief at the sight of Ghost in her doorway. The white wolf wags his tail once, thump, a greeting. "Ghost," she whispers into the darkness and at once the wolf is within the room, rubbing his nose into her palm. She sinks to the floor, wrapping her arms around his neck, nuzzling her cheek into his soft but shaggy fur. "How did you know?" She asks of the wolf, pulling back to look into his red eyes, as if she expects an answer. Thump, thump. Ghost's tail thuds against the stone floor, an answer of his own. She smiles. 

It's not long after Ghost's arrival that the tremors of fear, of anxiety, begin to dissipate from her body. She feels that eerily empty feeling again, the one that always comes after the terror fades, but she's thankful for the calm beating of her heart. Climbing back into her bed, Sansa tugs the furs back over her legs, though she's hesitant to return her head to the pillow. In her sleep, the dreams might come again- she's afraid to sleep, as she had been back then, back when she had found Jon at Castle Black. As if he feels her fears, Ghost is jumping onto the bed, tucking himself along the right side of her body in the space between her and the wall her bed is pushed up against. She's been here before, Ghost has shared her bed more nights than she can count, sometimes just because he wants to, rather than because she needed him to. Jon often joked that Ghost belonged to her more than to him. Others might say the wolf reflected the truth of the feelings between the two, though Brienne was the only one brave enough to say it aloud. 

With Ghost tucked against her, she lays down, her head pressed into the soft fur of his belly, rather than the pillow. One hand threads through the fur and Sansa curls inward beneath the fur covers on the bed, knowing without a doubt that she was safe for another night.

She closes her eyes and she sleeps.

[ x x x ]

Jon doesn't know how he knows when Sansa needs him, he just.... Does. 

Even there, on Dragonstone, Jon knows. 

He's been unable to sleep, rising more than once from the bed to stand at the window and stare out into the moonlit night, the soft pale glow reminding him of her. It's been several weeks now and Jon can't imagine going another day, let alone another week or more, without seeing her face. Without hearing her voice. Pain constricts his heart and he closes his eyes against it, knowing when he opens them again that she's out there calling out to him.

It takes him a few tries before he connects to Ghost. 

His wolf is wandering the halls of Winterfell, quiet as his namesake, stopping only once outside a door that smells of Arya. But then he's going on, down the hall until he's at the door that belongs to Sansa and the wolf's keen sense of hearing tells him that she's awake within the room, pacing and pacing. He raises his paw, lightly scratching at the wooden door, unsurprised when it opens a moment later.

What does surprise him, however, is Sansa herself. 

She's dressed for bed, in a long white nightgown, her red hair a tumble of waves down her back. Her blue eyes are sharp, but her voice is soft when she speaks his name. Ghost... Her face is pale, her features tired, as if she's not slept in days; she smells of sorrow and fear. Jon wonders when she's eaten last, when she's slept last. Her smile is sad as she sinks to the floor to wrap her arms around the white wolf, burying her face into his fur- though he's not there, he can feel the grip of her embrace. How did you know? She asks when she pulls back to look him in the face, almost as if she waits for an answer from the wolf. This time when she smiles, it's sad, but it's her. 

For a while he sits with her there on the floor, while she absently strokes his fur, silent as she slowly pulls herself back together. When she finally rises back to her feet, it's to return to her abandoned bed, climbing back beneath the furs. She looks hesitant, fearful even, a face he's seen before. And so he pads across the room, joining her in the bed, pressing the wolf's body against her. It takes only several moments for her to sink into him, her head resting against Ghost rather than her pillow. 

It isn't until Jon is certain she's asleep that he pulls himself free from the wolf, returning to his own body there on Dragonstone. He pictures her there, lost and alone in her rooms, facing her ghosts in the middle of the night. _I should be there,_ he thinks as he leans back against his pillows, letting out the breath he's been holding. _I should be there for her._ He's spent countless hours comforting her when she needed him, so many moments he's spent beside her in the months that have passed since she rode through the gates at Castle Black. As always, his mind turns back to what he must do, for that alone will secure him his way back home to her. To Sansa. 

He will find his way back to her, no matter the cost. 


	48. from snowflakes to sunlight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post season 8 finale, fuck canon material, amirite?

The snowflakes that drift down from the overcast skies are soft and pure, though they melt not long after they land upon the ground. Peeking out from behind the clouds is the sun, golden and warm, a beacon of hope in the world that is slowly coming back from war. A glimmer of belief that the sun always rises again, a reminder that surely, after all this time, spring was coming back to them. 

Standing on the battlements, Sansa gazes down at the busy courtyard, full of men hard at work on the repairs of Winterfell. In the aftermath of the battle with the Night King there had been very little time to think of much else besides the next one that was to come- the one for the Iron Throne. In the end, Daenerys Targaryen had done as she swore she'd not and that was become a queen of ashes. She burned all of King's Landing, leaving it little more than rubble and ash- Sansa knows she will never forget the sights she witnessed upon arriving there, even weeks later. She cannot begin to imagine what the soldiers saw. 

Out among the working men, she catches sight of Arya and Brienne, working just as hard as any of the rest of them. Arya swears she has plans of sailing off to where the maps stop, but Sansa wonders if the handsome Gendry Baratheon will keep her from going too far, if even for the time being. Brienne on the other hand has assumed her place as captain of Sansa's guard, even if she tries to tell her there needs to be no others. For the first time in perhaps several years, Sansa finally feels safe. In this new, peaceful world, what use is there in a guard? But, she smiles and she allows it, for it keeps her Lord's happy, knowing she's well protected. 

"My queen?"

Sansa stirs from her thoughts, still unaccustomed to this new title of hers. It's beyond being Queen in the North, she's been crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms- hand chosen by the highest Lords in the lands. It's a title she's stil not yet certain she deserves, but it's hers all the same. Once, she had dreamed of a crown and a golden prince, but those dreams had died with the girl she'd left behind in King's Landing so long ago. Her dream of a prince had not quite died, but it had changed, had shaped itself into a new image entirely.

And said image stood before her now.

Jon smiles, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his dark curls secured tightly at the back of his head. He wears the furs she made for him still yet, though the clothes beneath are new, dark gray and black, made from the same fabric of her coronation gown. "I told you not to call me that," she responds, eliciting a chuckle from his lips as he closes the gap between them, his arms sliding into place around her waist. "If you call me that then surely I must call you my King-" at once he makes a face and it's her turn to laugh. The North was, in the end, it's own nation, ruled by the King in the North (who's name is Stark) though united in marriage with the rest of the six kingdoms. 

Back then, in King's Landing, to save Jon from his fate at the hands of the remaining Dothraki and Targaryen supporters, Sansa and Jon secretly married in the cell where he had been kept prisoner. When she was declared queen, her first proclamation was that Jon Snow was to be a free man and known from that day forward as Jon Stark, a name which he had sought after his entire life. Her next proclamations that day was that King's Landing town would be rebuilt before the Red Keep or any other part of the royal lodgings. 

And so they had stayed South for several months, if only to ensure the town was rebuilt, that the people had homes to return to, beds to sleep in. Out on the streets, the people knelt to her and cried out blessings for their new queen, a young woman well remembered from her first few years there. The townspeople cried tears of sorrow when she finally packed up to return North, despite her promises to soon return. In truth, she knows plans to visit Dorne and High Garden are already underway and soon, she will travel to all of the nations she rules over. 

It's been only a night since her return from the South and already she must prepare to leave. After so long of being away from Winterfell, of sharing it with monsters and dragon queens , she only wishes to remain there, alone with just Jon and their family. To watch the last of the snows melt and to feel the warm spring sun upon her skin. "Are you lost in there, my sweet?" Jon's voice tugs her back and she can't help but to smile before she leans into him, his grip upon her tightening ever so slightly. "You're far away from here." He goes on softly, knowing there must be dozens of things she's thinking about. Her life has changed significantly, all for him, really. Jon knows what Sansa has given up to be Queen of the Six Kingdoms... This... The North, Winterfell... It belonged to her, in truth, they both knew it. Everyone knew it. But she had given it to him, to protect him, to save him. There was no way he could repay her for what she's done, other than to love her for the rest of their days. It was an easy task, loving her, he has done it for so long now it is quite natural. Though what is unnatural about it now is not having to hide, to shy away from the feelings that had always been there. 

"I was only thinking how much I will miss the snow when it's gone." She says softly, her voice somewhat muffled from where her mouth is pressed into his neck. 

"Aye," he agrees, raising his gaze out to the snowy landscape that surrounds them for a moment before he returns it to her face, which she's raised from his neck to look at him instead. "I will miss the sight of you with snowflakes in your hair," he admits, reaching up to stroke a lock of her fiery red hair, knowing he'll never grow tired of the way it feels against his skin. "But I think I'd much rather see sunlight in your hair." He's so close to her now, she can feel the curve of his lips when he smiles and her heart skips a beat in her chest. 

When he kisses her, it's like the summer sun bathing her in its glow, warm and soft. In truth, by the time it's over she's quite forgotten why she would ever miss the winter cold. 


	49. trust in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a little pre battle with the night king angst.

It's snowing again.

Standing in the window in her room, she peers down into the courtyard as the snow drifts down from the gray clad sky above. Somewhere, a man shouts an order and several more scramble to do his bidding, the digging of trenches a tiresome, but entirely necessary process. Darkness will soon fall and tomorrow they will wake up one final morning before the battle will begin.

Battle. It's a sour word on her lips, but it echoes constantly in her mind. Sansa knows not what it means to fight a battle with a weapon, but all these months, no, years, she's been fighting a battle all her own. Now, surely, that battle will soon come to a close. The Night King will die and the world will know safety once again. Certainly there will be dragons and lions to deal with after this mess, but even they cannot compare with the fear the army of the dead brings. Daenerys Targaryen does not make her tremble nor weep, not like Cersei Lannister once could. Soon, the day will come where Sansa will face the golden haired Lannister queen and she will not feel fear when she does.

"Sansa?"

The voice is quiet, coming from her doorway. She turns, surprised to see him standing there. So lost in her own thoughts, she'd not heard him knock nor open the door. It wasn't until his soft vocals called out her name, a sound she would hear over any thought or noise. "Jon." Her features soften and he notices, his heart skipping a beat. Once, she had looked upon him with white hot rage, but now her temper seems to have cooled. Jon isn't certain he yet deserves that from her, but he's happy to see her smile all the same. "It seems the preparations for the battle are well underway," she gestures towards the window which she's been staring out most of the morning, turning back to face it as well, her long red hair a waterfall down her back.

"You weren't at the morning meal." Jon sees her shoulders stiffen but she does not reply, does not turn back to face him. "Nor did I see you at the evening meal," he goes on as he takes a single step closer to where she stands, wishing she might turn around and face him once again. "Lord Royce says you prefer to dine privately." He notes the lack of dishes within the room, though he supposes they could have already been cleared from her table, but he knows... He knows better. "Your people will do better with you well fed and healthy, Sansa..."

"_My_ people will starve because of the dragons _your_ queen have brought with her," she rounds on him, rosy lips spitting venom. "_Your_ people. _Our_ people." Her chest heaves, her cheeks blooms of color as she stares back at him, daring him to disagree. Daring him to speak even one word against her. "I dine privately to ensure there is enough food in the hall." What she means is when she dines alone, it is so her people do not see she does not eat. When she goes to bed hungry, she knows it is for the greater good. It is what's right. "While you have been..." She pauses, her pretty features twisted in anger, though her eyes a raging storm of anguish as they fall upon him. "While you have gone to bed with a foreign queen who means to do little else than conquer what does not belong to her, I have been here... I have been here protecting you and your crown. I have bloodied my conscious and my hands for the North, for you." Now that she's going, she finds she cannot stop. Every feeling, every thought, it's pouring out of her. "When Littlefinger tried to tear Arya and I apart, I had him executed. He was behind everything that's happened, from the very beginning." That man alone could be blamed for every last thing that had happened to the Stark's. Jon thinks of Littlefinger, the sorry excuse for a man he left behind at Winterfell against his better judgment. He thinks of him, bleeding at her feet, though nothing could atone for the sins he committed against her, against their family. "You left Winterfell to secure us an ally, instead you find a lover." Sansa scoffs when Jon shakes his head, opening his mouth to interrupt. "You needn't explain anything to me, Jon, I understand quite well what has happened. She is beautiful, I can't blame you for falling for her, but remember when you lay with her next... She will be the ruin of us all."

Jon finds himself silenced by her outburst, thoroughly shamed by the words she's spoken into the darkness of the room. He's quiet for several long moments as he tries to grasp the words to say to her, the ones that will make her understand. Words that will make her see that all along, all he's wanted was to keep her safe. "Sansa... I..."

Just the sound of her name upon his lips is enough to send chills down her spine. "I told you, I need no explanation." The last thing she wants to hear from him is the truth. The last thing she ever wants to hear him say is that he loves Daenerys Targaryen. "There's nothing you need to say." She's on the move then, pushing past him in hopes of crossing the room towards her bed, but Jon has other plans. His hand encloses around her wrist, catching her there, holding her still. When she turns back to face him, the look he has steals the breath from her very lungs. Before she can speak, he's pulling her into his embrace, warm and strong, as it always has been.

She only struggles for a moment, but the moment she yields to his embrace, Jon breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry," is all he can say, over and over again, a soft mantra against her sweet smelling hair. She curls into him and for a fleeting moment, all feels right. All feels well. Though war looms at their door, Jon isn't sure that's the fight that terrifies him anymore. "It's all... It's all been for you." He whispers, still holding fast to her, though he feels her stiffen at his admission. "Everything I've done, every choice I've made since that day you showed up at Castle Black... All for you." Much like the anger she vented minutes ago, these feelings are ones that Jon can no longer hold in. Not when... Not when tomorrow may never come.

Hearing his words, she draws back, a warm heat rising into her cheeks as their eyes meet. "I... I don't..." _Understand._ But of course she does. The anger she wants so desperately to hold onto, it's fading.

"I would do anything to keep you safe, Sansa." He holds fast to her gaze, one hand tucking against the curve of her cheek, her skin soft and slick with tears. "I would make any pact, swear any oath, anything at all, so long as it means you're safe." Safe... How strange of a word, how foreign it feels on the tip of her tongue. "I didn't mean to hurt you." She's thinking of his words to her, _I'll protect you, I promise._ Words that all these months, she's held onto. Words that had given her hope, given her faith. And he has, hasn't he? "You just have to trust me."

"I trust you," she says softly, his thumb catching the last of her tears as they cling to her lashes. Jon could stay like this forever, if they could. But they can't. As he slides his hand away, she catches it, keeping it there against her cheek. Perhaps it's the way the moonlight frames her from where it spills in through the window, but she's more beautiful than he's ever seen. And perhaps it's the sheer fact that when the night falls tomorrow, he may very well be dead, or perhaps it's because he's tired of wondering what it will be like to do it... Jon kisses her.

It takes her but a moment to react, returning his kiss as his hands slide into her hair.

[ x x x ]

It's later, much later in fact, when Jon finally untangles himself from her limbs and her bed.

He dresses in the darkness, leaning over the bed after so he might brush his mouth across hers one final time, a hand gently touching her hair as she murmurs in her sleep. Tonight, there will be a battle with only one victor... And it must be him. The odds are stacked against them, perhaps, but he knows he must win.

He will win and he will come back to her, no matter the cost. 


	50. whats left in the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post night king battle, soft angst.

As dawn breaks on the horizon, Jon wakes from his slumber. 

The room is cold and so it leaves his body stiff, aching. Sometime over the course of the night, the fire burned down to embers, leaving no light nor warmth to seep into the room, but he's grown used to this cold, hasn't he? He's missed this sort of cold, after being away in Dragonstone all these weeks. 

Rising from the furs of his bed, he shivers into his clothes, tugging the furs Sansa had made for him around his shoulders. It's the morning after the battle, the morning after they've won. Despite seeing the end with his own two eyes, Jon still can't quite comprehend that it's real. That it's over. 

Opening the door, Ghost darts out of the room, down the hall to stop at a single room- Sansa, her name is never far from his thoughts, especially now. For a moment, he thinks back to the night before the battle, to the night they spent together in her rooms. Despite the sorrow in the air, it brings a smile to his face. They have lost countless lives, good men and innocent women and children down in the crypts. Today, they will bury those lives lost, and hope that the Old Gods and New will guide them on their way to the next life. 

He stops at her door and raises a hand, thinking he might knock, but before he has a chance, the door is already opening. As if she senses his presence, she's there, fully dressed in a gown of black and gray, her hair twisted back from her face. She looks as if she's been crying all night long and Jon feels that dreaded sense of regret rushing through him. He knows he should have been with her last night, while she begun to process the loss of Theon and the nightmare of what she witnessed below in the crypts. But when she had insisted he get some rest, he had obeyed, going to his own rooms and leaving her alone within hers. "Sansa..." Her name is a whisper on his lips and at the sound, she's cracking. 

The moment he's stepped into her room, she's in his arms, face burying into the crook of his shoulder. Ghost curls up in front of the fireplace, though his red eyes never stray from the pair of them. When Jon holds her, it's almost as if she can feel that things will be well again, that the twisting ache of anguish will soon enough loosen it's hold upon her heart. But right then, the pain is enough to steal the breath from her lungs. Losing Theon... It was a different sort of pain than she's ever felt before. The relationship she built with him back then, it had saved her life. He had saved her life as much as Jon had. And now... Now he was gone.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles a few minutes later when the tears finally begin to cease. After spending a better part of the night crying, you would think she'd have no tears left to cry at all. "I didn't mean..." She goes on, but Jon shakes his head, cutting her off. 

"Don't apologize, not to me, not for this." When she looks up into his eyes, they hold their gaze for a long moment before she nods. "He was a good man, Sansa, despite everything... He protected you and got you to me, I owe him everything for that alone." She slips her hand into his, small and cold, but comforting all the same. "He died to protect Bran, to protect our family, that is no debt that can ever be repaid." She nods, a flicker of a smile on her lips, blue eyes damp but she sheds no more tears. "We won't ever let anyone forget what Theon Greyjoy did for House Stark." 

"A statue, in the crypts," she says and Jon nods, of course he would have a statue among the others down there. There would be many statues in need of rebuilding in the coming days as the destruction in the crypts was more than perhaps anyone expected. Jon knows of what happened down there, of what Sansa had to do, of what she had to witness... They spoke of it that first night, as she cleaned and stitched his wounds after the battle had ended. He wonders if sorrow wasn't the only thing that's kept her awake all night long. 

His hand is still in hers when there comes a knock on the door and still yet when it swings open to reveal Brienne standing there. Sansa's lady knight sports a bruised face, but has survived the battle mostly unhurt. "My lady, my lord," she acknowledges them both, her blue eyed stare lingering on their clasped hands for only a moment. "I believe it's time." She has come to find Sansa for the burial ceremony, though she isn't all that surprised to find Jon within her rooms. After all this time, she can only be thankful her lady is beloved by a man- Brienne knows she will never have to worry about Sansa's well being if she's with Jon. "I will tell them you're ready." She gives a bow, though Sansa asks her not to, and backs from the room, allowing the door to fall closed behind her. 

"It's time, then," Jon says when they're alone again. Sansa's ivory skin has paled with worry but she sucks in a breath and does her best to put on a brave face; and then she nods. The hand he holds moves up to his arm instead and she loops her arm through his, allowing him to steer her from her chambers, Ghost darting out in front of them. Together they make their way down the halls until they reach the main corridor, where sure enough others have begun to gather. At the very back stands the dragon queen, her silvery hair standing out among the sea of dark; she raises her eyes to see them coming, but her face does not change when she sees how closely they stand, when she sees Sansa's arm looped through Jon's. Instead she retreats back into her sadness, the loss of Jorah more than she thinks she can even take. 

Standing there in the hall with the other survivors, they all look to Jon to lead them, to take them on to where they must go next. He is no longer their King in the North and yet, at the same time, it is almost as if he is. As if he always will be. With Sansa's hand still on his arm, he motions for the others to follow and they quietly spill out into the gray morning air, cold and crisp with every breath. 

Today they will burn their dead, mourn their losses, and then... 

They will find their way again. 


	51. promises.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set before jon leaves for dragonstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somewhat nsfw + pre parentage reveal sex.

"I don't want you to go."

It's a soft admission of truth, though it drives a wedge between them all the same.

"I have to go." He replies, the same one he always gives. "For the North. For you."

"I don't want you to go for me." She spits out these words, sharp as ice. Jon winces but he grins in spite of it, shaking his head slightly.

"Aye, I don't expect you to," he shrugs, turning away from her to glance out over the battlements, at the vast expanse of forest on the outskirts of Winterfell. "But I have to go." He says again, as if these words alone will make her understand, will make her see the truth of it all. "We need allies against the Night King-"

"And so you wish to add to the problem by bringing in dragons and a foreign queen?" Sansa rounds on him, blue eyes sparkling in the dying sunlight. Across the sky, streaks of crimson gold cut through the gray, a reminder that behind the clouds there is still yet a sky of blue. Someday, Jon thinks they might even see it again. "She will bring us nothing but more danger." Sansa can't say why, but she already distrusts this Targaryen queen that Jon wishes to bring home with him. "Dragons or no dragons, there must be a way to fight the Night King without her. To just mine the dragonglass and leave her there on Dragonstone." Even as she says the words, Sansa knows how stupid they are. Of course, Daenerys Targaryen won't remain on Dragonstone forever. One way or another, those dragons would come to Westeros and cause trouble. If nothing else, they'll only help themselves by befriending her before that day comes.

But still yet... She's worried.

Jon is smiling when he turns back to her, catching her cheek with his palm, his skin warm against hers. "I'll come home to you, Sansa, I promise."_ I'll protect you, I promise. _He'd kept that promise, hadn't he? So why would this one be any different? "I have to check on the final preparations," he's reluctantly letting his hand slide from her face, instantly his skin feels cold without the touch of hers.

"I'll stay here just a little longer," she replies to which he nods, leaning in to brush his mouth against her temple. It's soft and sweet and it happens too fast.

"Don't stay too long. It's going to snow." She nods and watches him as he walks the length of the battlements before he ducks into the entryway and down the stairs towards the courtyard.

She stands there until the first snowflake hits her cheek.

[ x x x ]

The knock on his door comes late, far later than he would expect a visitor.

"Sansa." He greets softly, stepping aside so she may step into the room. When the door closes behind them, she turns to face him, her back to the fireplace; the fire casts her into a golden haze, illuminating her like the sun. She's dressed for bed, her fur lined robe draped over her nightgown, her red hair a single plait across a shoulder. "Can't sleep?" She shakes her head. Jon smiles and gestures at the pitcher of ale on his table, a silent offer to which she shakes her head again.

"I'm afraid," is all she says a moment later, breaking the silence of the moment.

"Sansa, I-" he's unable to finish his words, for she's kissing him. It takes him a split second to realize what's happening and only a moment more than that for him to kiss her back. "Afraid of what?" He whispers as his arms come around her, suddenly hyper aware of the feel of her body pressing against his.

"Of how you would react to that," she admits, her smile quick when Jon lets out a chuckle. "I couldn't let you leave before I... Before I knew what it was like to do that."

"Just in case?" He asks and she frowns, shaking her head.

"I just couldn't wait anymore."

Neither can he.

That single kiss has ignited a fire within him and he surges forward, capturing her mouth with his, a fiery kiss that nearly sweeps her off of her feet. Jon can feel her hands as they tangle into his curls, his own hands at her hips, her tongue sweet tasting as it fills his mouth. His hands travel up the length of her spine, one tugging her braid free from it's confines while the other slides into place against the small of her back. "Sansa," he gasps when they finally break free, though neither of their hands see fit to relinquish their hold on the other. "We don't have-" but she's shaking her head. Suddenly, it no longer matters what ties they hold to one another. All that matters is this one single moment of happiness. One single moment of peace.

Taking her by the hand, he draws her closer to his bed, shedding his tunic as they go. At the bedside, he slides her robes from her shoulders and her own hands are unlacing his breeches a moment before he gently pushes her onto his bed. She scrambles back to make space for him and he climbs in over her, returning his mouth to hers. One hand is slowly sliding up beneath the hem of her nightgown, fingertips tracing across every inch of skin; her calves, her thighs, her hips, her stomach. She tips her head back and lets out a breath as he brushes his touch across the swell of her breasts. It's a slow, tantalizing touch, that leaves warmth pooling in her belly.

His hands then slide out from beneath her nightgown and in a quick movement, he removes it over her head, tossing it to the floor to join their other discarded clothing. Now that she's naked in front of him, Jon groans as he takes in the sight of her; once again his hand is taking gentle hold of her breast, thumb rubbing soft circles against a pink nipple. "Gods, Sansa," he's straining against the hold of his breeches and it's by her touch that he springs free a moment later. Her touch is warm, but hesitant, and it's through his soft coaching that she begins to slide her hand along the length of him. 

When he's hovering over her several minutes later, it's so he can kiss the smallest scar she has against her collarbone. It's so he can brush his fingertips across another one on her left hip, so he can tenderly stroke the warm skin of her inner thigh. Beneath his touch, she sighs, ever content to the feeling of his hands upon her. She's surprised at how much she can enjoy this, considering the past. But Jon's touch is so soft, so warm, it's all she can do to keep from begging him for more. "Jon... Don't stop..."

He doesn't plan to.

[ x x x ]

She's pressed into him, a tangle of limbs beneath the furs of his bed, the beat of her heart like a tattoo against his skin. His mouth strays from hers only to trace the outline of her jaw with soft kisses, one hand sliding upwards into her magnificent red hair. "Jon..." His name has never sounded sweeter, never sounded better. When he pulls back, it's only so he can look into her blue eyes, knowing he might never look away.

It's a moment later that he's rolling over her, one hand pressed against the bed beside her head, the other making it's way down to grip her hip. Beneath his touch, she shivers. They both know they shouldn't be here, but now that they are, neither can find a way to stop. His mouth finds hers once again and the kiss fills her with a warmth she cannot explain. Her body moves in perfect time with his and when he's inside of her again, she has to bite down upon his shoulder to keep from crying out loud. "Sansa-" he breathes against her neck, cut off by his own groan when she snakes a leg around his hips. "I love you," he just manages to grit through his teeth, the little mewl she releases a sound torn between lust and surprise. "I wanted you to know... just in case I don't come back." Yet again he's silenced by her kiss, this time her hands around his face, drawing him as close to her as possible.

"Don't say that," she commands in a fierce whisper, those blue eyes smoldering like coals when she pulls back. Truly, he might never bring himself to look away again. "Don't ever say that." She catches her lower lip between her teeth as Jon reaches out, brushing stray strands of red hair from her sweaty forehead. "You promised me." It's a soft plea, the words of a frightened heart._ I'll protect you, I promise. _Of course he would. Of course he would protect her. "When you come home, we will find Arya and Bran, too." She whispers, tears stinging in her eyes as Jon closes his. It's a long, silent moment, until his eyes open and he nods. _I'll come home to you, I promise._

Jon Snow kept his vows, after all.


	52. nodus tollens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drunk writing.   
noun: the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore
> 
> based on / inspired by the prompt: losing the ability to feel

When he wakes from death, he feels… _nothing._

It’s a strange feeling, a foreign sort of feeling.

He is numb, he is cold. The fire crackles in the hearth, but it offers no warmth; the soup is scalding, but it gives him no taste. Ghost is there, but he is distant, as if he knows his master is not who he once was. His world is black and white, what was once living color is now dull, listless. Empty.

For several hours or perhaps even several days, Jon lingers in a world between life and death, uncertain now of his role in this world. He feels no anger, no remorse, nothing whatsoever. That’s all the more frightening.

But then comes the call at the gate and his life changes again.

The red of her hair is the first color he’s seen since awakening.

It’s vivid color fills his mind, reminding him of summer sunsets. Reminding him of days past, days of simple joys and peaceful minds. His breath catches; it can’t be. She slides down from her horse, pale, broken, bruised. What has happened to her? Beside her, the lady knight touches her elbow, as if she means to offer her comfort. It must, for she smiles. Jon watches as she revolves on the spot, clear blue eyes searching… Searching… She spots him.

Their eyes meet and Jon feels warm.

_Sansa… _Her name is on his lips, but he cannot find his voice. He comes down the stairs and the snow crunches beneath his feet as he steps into the courtyard. A hush has fallen and dozens of eyes watch as the once dead Jon Snow approaches the young redheaded woman. He cannot breathe and for a moment, he wonders if he’s dying again. But then he hears the slight catch of her breath, sees the twitch of her limbs as she stares back at him.

He opens his arms.

When she’s within his grasp, he wonders if he can ever bring himself to let her go. She’s cold, she’s thin, she’s shaking. In an instant, he’s alive again, he’s found his purpose again. When he wraps his arm around her waist, to gently tug her towards shelter, towards warmth, he knows he’s alive again. He knows _why _he’s been brought back to life, there’s no other reason but this one so clearly set before.

His reason his her, his reason is Sasnsa.


	53. what do dragons eat, anyway?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a part 2 to chapter 122 from my ask box prompts.   
S7 AU where Jon gives his crown to Sansa before he goes to Dragonstone so the North would remain independent if ever Jon doesn't return, dies, or is forced by Tyrion and Daenerys to surrender the North. Political Jon and Political Sansa being smart together.

The air in the room is thick with electricity.

It's sharp, it's uncomfortable, and they all can feel it.

Jon sits beside Sansa, who presides over the head table and the entire room; she sits with her back straight, her red hair twisted in braids that scream her Northern heritage. Her blue eyes are cut like steel, sharper than any words that might fall from her soft, rosy lips. She's dressed in a black gown that only accentuates her Stark name and the contrast between the dark gown and her red hair is something Jon never wants to look away from. Every person in the room has eyes only for this queen, this Queen in the North who's name is Stark. Every person in the room, with the exception of perhaps two, would gladly take a blade, an arrow, even dragon fire, just to ensure her safety. But even those who are loyal to another cannot help but to notice the way this queen carries herself, cannot help but to notice the presence she brings to every room she enters.

"My dragons must eat." The other queen speaks. They've been speaking of food storage for the people living in and near Winterfell, the innocent folk that must be provided for when the true cold comes. Once again, Daenerys thinks of little else but her dragons.

Eyes shift to her, vastly different from the young woman she stands behind. Daenerys stands near the hearth, perhaps warming herself, perhaps distancing. Her silver hair is blinding to some eyes in that room, unlike anything these Northern men have seen before. Some, only in the twenty odd years it's been since her father's reign. That is the hair color of the distrusted, much as those violet eyes are the color of a suspicious gaze. Daenerys was distrusted before she even set a single foot in the North, but even less so now that she stands before them. Demanding to be called _your grace_, when their own queen sat before them. It's been less than a single day since her arrival and she's already dared to speak of the North's treason in naming a queen when they already had one. Jon's surprised they made it through such a comment, but they had. Who's to say if they make it through this one. Daenerys returns to the chair she once occupied, her shoulder brushing against Jon's as she settles.

"I wonder... What do dragons eat, anyway?"

The voice is like venom and chills race many spines in that room at the sound of Sansa Stark's voice. On his either side, Jon feels both women shift ever so lightly, their brilliantly colored glares falling upon the other. "Whatever they like." The voice that replies is as equally poisonous, though the smug sort of expression that follows is cause for some to roll their eyes.

Before another word can be spoken, there is a sharp knock at the double doors and the man nearest them bends over to push one door open just enough so the man outside can whisper in his ear. He steps back, blinking, as if he's confused, but then he stalks down the aisle towards the head table. Coming before his queen, he bows and then leans over the table, whispering quiet words into her ear alone. If the Northern queen is surprised by his words, her face does not show it. Instead, when the man steps aside, she speaks. "Ensure your people are brought to Winterfell, Lord Umber."

Jon follows after her when the lords are dismissed, catching her by the elbow as she disappears out the back door, into a quiet hall. She turns back to face him, lips a frown, but her eyes have darkened, full of a new sort of awareness. "What is it?" He asks, knowing it must be important for her to have ended the meeting so abruptly.

"Jaime Lannister is at our gate." 


	54. morning sunshine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post s8 finale.   
inspired by the prompt "sunlight"

When Jon wakes, it's to sunlight streaming in through the curtains.

It fills the room with golden warmth, better than any fire in the hearth. He does not wake to aching limbs and frozen air, to a thin layer of ice against the glass windowpane. Rather, he wakes and hears a lark chirping in the distance, surprising him perhaps more than the sunshine streaming into the room.

Beside him, his sleeping partner stirs, just slightly, grabbing his attention.

The sunlight illuminates her red hair like a golden crown, enticing him to reach out and gently brush a lock of it from her forehead. He wonders what she's dreaming of and can only hope it's as sweet as she deserves. It's been a long time since she last woke in the cold sweat of a nightmare and he can only hope that's the way things continue.

As he pushes back the furs to slide from the bed, the singing lark has a response from it's friend and she wakes from her slumber beside him. Unable to bring himself to leave the bed now that she's awake, Jon turns back to face her, leaning in so he might nuzzle against the soft, ivory skin of her exposed throat. "Good morning, sweetheart," he murmurs against her skin, one hand pressed against her pillow, keeping him somewhat upright.

"Is that... A bird?" She asks, hearing the birds chirping from somewhere out the window. Jon chuckles as she pushes him back, slipping from the blankets and his arms so she can race to the window. She pulls back the curtains and blinks against the sudden brightness, but from where Jon remains on the bed, he can see the curve of her mouth. "Spring," she breathes, soft and slow, her hand pressed against the glass she peers out of.

Jon finally rises from the bed, crossing the room so he can wrap her in his arms, chin resting lightly against the crook of her shoulder. "Spring." He parrots back as she leans into him, a soft sigh escaping her. "We thought it might never come." He goes on, to which she nods, hands coming up to clutch the arms that hold her close. It's been so very long since they last saw the sun- since the snows did not fall, since the cold winds did not blow. "But here it is."

Sansa nods, still silent as she stares out into the morning sunshine. Down in the courtyard, men are shouting, the building of additional cottages for the elderly and children within the ranks of Free Folk well underway. Her first decree as queen, besides bringing Jon home to her, was to form a pact with the Free Folk that would last for a thousand years or more. She knows spring brings a reminder of life- it brings warmth, it brings growth. How very fitting, she thinks, that spring has decided to come this very morning. When Jon loosens his hold on her, she turns around so she might face him instead, reaching for his hand to keep him where he stands. He looks back at her with a questionable sort of gaze and it brings a smile to her face. "What was it that my mother used to say?" She pauses as if she must think about it, though the phrase is on the tip of her tongue. Jon is chuckling when she speaks again. "No winter lasts forever."

He closes the already minimal gap between them, tipping his forehead against hers. "She was right."

Another smile and Sansa draws back so she might look him in the eyes. His hand is on hers and she does the only thing that makes any sense to her. She draws it towards her abdomen, pressing his palm against the flat plane, though she knows soon enough it will begin to curve with the life inside of her. "Spring brings new life," she reminds him, tilting her head to the side, red hair a waterfall across a shoulder. Jon's eyes widen and she laughs, placing her hand against his.

"A child?" He asks and when she nods, he almost falls to the floor.

There in the sunlight of spring, they share the joy of knowing a child will be born of their love. After everything they've experienced, after everything they've been dealt... This is what they both have long been waiting for. A child of spring, their child would grow to be the future of the North, the future of Winterfell. "The Spring Wolf." Sansa says softly, tears shining in her vibrant blue eyes. "The Spring Wolf of Winterfell, that will be what they call him." Somehow, she knows already that this will be a son to name Robb, a boy who will look every inch his father, a boy who's Stark roots will be undeniable.

When Jon takes her into his arms, they are bathed in sunlight, they are bathed in happiness. 


	55. a promise to protect.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a random piece i found that was never posted.  
post season 8. fuck canon.

"We have to look after one another now..." 

Sansa looks up at the crystal sky, the winter sun warming her skin. "Isn't that what we've always done?" She asks when she turns back to face him, her smile quick and his touch warm as his hand comes to rest against her cheek. "Is it really over?" Her voice is soft and she sobers, thinking of all the fights and all of the death that had led them to this very moment. She thinks of every moment they've faced together and apart, of every single instance that had brought them to where they stood right there on the rebuilt battlements of Winterfell. 

Jon cannot speak as he gazes into her sapphire eyes, his heart skipping a beat as she leans in so close that their lips barely brush. "It is," he finally rasps, his lungs threatening to give out when she kisses him, her arms extending out over his shoulders, crossing somewhere behind his head as his own arms came around her waist. "We're safe," he says when he breaks the kiss a moment later, though he already longs to feel the touch of her lips again. "I promised you, didn't I?" She laughs now, a soft, sweet sound he didn't hear nearly enough. 

"You did," she whispers as he tilts his forehead against hers, his hands rising up to slide into her fire kissed hair. "The pack survives," she says a moment before his mouth captures hers, a kiss so telling it leaves her eyes full of tears. 

"The pack survives," he parrots back, his own eyes gleaming with unshed tears as he suddenly laughs, raising a hand to point out towards the courtyard. Sansa turns, following his line of sight down to where he points, to where she sees the rest of their pack gathered below. Arya and Brienne are sparring, Podrick and Gendry both off the side watching. Tormund is on the opposite side, cheering Brienne on against the young Stark. Jaime Lannister cheers from where he stands beside Bran, his official guard even if he said he didn't need one. 

Sansa smiles as she leans against him, the feel of his arm coming around her waist enough to make her heart skip. "We have to protect them." Sansa says and Jon nods. Their pack was all that mattered to them now, save for each other.

"We will," he agrees, tightening his grip on her body, looking out with her at their family. At their future. "We will." 

It's a promise. 


	56. the night before i leave.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drunk jonsa feels  
set the night before jon leaves for dragonstone. because its everything to me.

She stands before the hearth, firelight her backdrop.

"Sansa..." 

The blue eyes that stare at him widen slightly, lips parting with the breath she releases. He wonders when he's seen her like this before. He hasn't. "Jon..." The sound of her voice speaking his name is unlike anything else. He longs to hear her say it again, perhaps this time coming off the raspy gasp of her lungs as she writhes in the sheets beneath him. He snaps back to reality. This is his_ sister,_ albeit half, but they share a father's blood all the same. These feelings that tempt him, that stir him, they are unnatural. They are forbidden.

And yet...

They feel right.

A single step closes the gap between them and Jon reaches out a hand, fingertips ghosting along the length of her jaw. "I must go tomorrow," he says as she leans her cheek into his palm, eyes closing for a long, silent moment. When she opens them, they shimmer with tears, but her lips curve with a trembling smile. "Sansa..." There's so many things he might say, so many truths upon his heart, but so little words to explain to her what he feels, what he thinks. "When I come home..." He trails off, breath catching as she leans in dangerously close, her lips just barely grazing his. Jon slides his hand from her cheek up into her hair, fingers threading through the red locks. 

"When you come home..." She prompts, breath warm against his lips. 

"I want to be with you." He admits without hesitation before he captures her mouth with his own, hoping every unspoken thing is said with this single action. Moments later, when he draws back so he might look into her eyes, he knows his message was heard. "I mean it, I don't care what people say. I want to be with you. I want to stand at your side." He's emboldened by his confession, by the thought that he doesn't know when he'll see her again. "I couldn't leave without telling you." Softer now, perhaps chiding himself for acting so very out of turn. But before he can be too hard on himself, she's on the move.

When Sansa kisses him, it's longer, warmer, than any kiss he's ever felt before. 

"I want that, too..." Her words come, soft and warm against his ear, and into his arms she relaxes. She fits against him as if she were born to do so and Jon thinks she truly might have been. He draws her close, breathing in the scent of her, knowing well that if it were up to him, he would never leave her side. But going to Dragonstone... It is to ensure her safety. It is to protect the North. "Promise me you will come home." 

"I promise." 

[ x x x ]

The fire burns brightly in the hearth when he wakes at dawn.

Beside him, she sleeps peacefully, one arm tucked beneath her head as she dreams what he hopes are happy dreams. He knows he's to leave this very day, but now that he's here, he isn't certain he can untangle himself from her. But he must, he must. And so Jon quietly slips from beneath the furs, pulling on the fresh clothes that have been laid out for him by Brienne, who snuck silently into the room only an hour before, tending to the room like a maid might, if only to shield them from discovery. True loyalty, Jon realizes, something he is thankful Sansa will have when he is away.

For a moment he can only stand at the bedside, peering down at her as she soundly sleeps in his bed. Someday, he hopes to see this every morning. Leaning over her, he brushes a feather soft kiss to her temple and then he flees, leaving her to sleep beneath the warm furs of his bed and his wolf, who darts into his room when Jon opens the door to leave. 

He turns back, just so he might watch as Ghost settles into the spot he vacated. 

She'll be safe, he knows, she'll be safe without him. 

And so, he goes. 


	57. quarantine plans.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> considering all thats going on in the world, it felt right to give the fandom a quarantine fic featuring our favorite pair. tbh, it was mostly an excuse to write jonsa having sex on a couch ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw content. but not explicit lol.

“Quarantined?”

Her voice comes out uncertain, hoarse; her throat is dry, threatening to close as fear surges through her entire being. To her left, Jon is looking just as surprised as she feels, his dark brown eyes wide as he stares at the television in front of them.

It’s just after noon on a Monday and usually, Sansa would be at work at this time, being a daycare teacher, but her job had closed up the week before in order to keep from spreading the rampant virus to the littlest of their community. Jon’s shift at the bar had been cancelled, due to lack of patrons, and they had intended on running out to do some shopping before the market’s were left empty. So much for that. “What are we going to do?” She hears herself ask, staring straight ahead at the news caster on the screen, talking about how as of that afternoon there would be a mandatory quarantine of everyone in the city. All of Westeros would soon follow in a total shut down, all in hopes that the virus spreading across the country could be stopped. “We don’t have enough food- oh my god, what about the bills? We aren’t working, how will we pay for anything?” She’s close to panicking, close to tears. Anxiety is rushing through her and her heart skips a beat as the woman on the television points to a chart of cases broken up by villages.

“Sansa, Sansa, honey, calm down.” Jon reaches out, his hand warm against hers as he draws her close to him. “We’ll be fine.” He runs a hand through her silky red locks, a gesture he knows calms her, and after several moments he hears her soft sigh of relief. She pulls back and Jon catches sight of her bright blue eyes, unwavering in their gaze, though full of uncertainty, full of worry. “I promise, we’ll be fine.” His other hand reaches up to tenderly touch her cheek, offering her a quick grin. “Davos already told me he’d pay me for the days I’m out, I know it’s not as much without tips… But with what we have in the savings, we’ll be alright.” It takes a moment, but finally she gives in and nods, a reluctant smile spreading across her lips. That smile takes his breath away, even now, after so many times he’s seen it. Her smile was something he would never grow tired of seeing, even after twenty years, even after fifty. “Besides it’s only for this week.”

Though they’ve only been “officially” dating several months now, they’ve known one another nearly their entire lives. Sansa can’t remember a time where Jon wasn’t a part of the Stark clan- best friends with her older brother, Robb, he’s been around since they weren’t even of double digit ages. Born without a father and a mother who died shortly after his birth, Jon was raised in an orphanage, though more often than not it felt like he was just another of the Stark family. Perhaps that’s why it felt so right to move in with each other after less than a year of dating. Being with Jon… it was normal, it was easy. 

“Only a week for now,” she sighs, allowing herself to sink down onto the couch, Jon following after her.

“What, you don’t like the idea of being stuck in the house with me for a week?” His wolfish grin brings a chuckle from her lips, despite her best efforts at remaining stoic.

“What are we supposed to do?” She asks, turning her gaze to him as he shifts a leg up onto the couch, his entire body turned towards her. “There’s only so much tv we can watch… And don’t say it- I’m not giving Ghost his bath.” Jon laughs as she wags a finger in his face, a reminder that indeed, Ghost was overdue for his bath. Speaking of, they could both hear him barking in the backyard, happily playing with the new squeaky toy Sansa had brought home for him only a few days before.

Another grin curls on his lips and Jon leans in, eyes twinkling mischievously as he rubs his nose against hers. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time…” His voice his a bit huskier than normal and Sansa can feel the warmth of his hand as he slides his palm up her denim clad thigh. Sansa can’t stop the giggle as Jon pushes her back so her head rests against the arm of the couch, Jon climbing overtop of her. “Unless you can think of a better one…” His breath is warm against the shell of her ear, his lips trailing kisses across the curve of her ivory neck, up to the outline of her jaw.

Her only answer is to kiss him.

As one of his hands slide into her hair, the other is attached to her hip. She runs her hands up the length of his spine and back down again, grinning into the kiss as Jon slips a hand beneath her tshirt. Her skin is unbelievably warm against his and Jon takes just a moment to truly enjoy how soft she is to his touch. But then he’s touching, grabbing, _feeling_, every inch of her that he can, slipping his hand further up until his fingertips are grazing the swell of her breasts beneath her bra. Jon feels her hands as they slide beneath the hem of his tshirt, her palms spanning the expanse of his back. She could stay here forever, suspended in time, wrapped in his arms.

It doesn’t take long for Jon to decide that the layers of clothes between them are just too much and with a little assistance from her, she’s freed from her jeans and top, Jon’s shirt joining hers on the floor seconds later. His lips leave fire in their wake, as he kisses every inch of her skin that he can find- her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, her hips. Beneath him, she writhes with pleasure, hands tangling themselves into his wild curls as his name softly escapes her rosy lips.

A moment later, the last layers of their clothes are gone and Sansa’s grin is almost too much for him to take as he places himself between the softness of her thighs. “You can’t, can you?” He teases, with not just his words, and it’s almost more than she can take. Watching her struggle beneath him, plump lower lip caught between her teeth, is so incredibly arousing that Jon can barely stand it. As he slides into her, she’s anchoring her legs around his hips, pulling them somehow even closer together. She’s got her head tilted back, a moan escaping her that resembles something similar to the syllables of his name, causing him to chuckle. But the next move she makes has him lost in the moment, waves of pleasure rocking his entire body as she tightens her hold on his hips.

He leans over her, one hand pressed against the arm of the sofa, offering him support as he finds the right rhythm with her beneath him. Every movement of his is met with her own and Jon can’t believe sometimes how perfectly they suit each other. From moments like this to every day moments, he knows he can always trust in her, he knows that there wasn’t a single other person in the entire world that he loves more. Closer still, he covers her mouth with his, a long and slow kiss that matches the steady grind of his hips into hers. “Sansa…” Her name a groan from his lips as he moves his mouth back towards her ear, catching her lobe between teeth. “I love you,” he’s said it before, those three words, but never in a voice like that. Never when his eyes are gazing down at her with such a look that it steals the breath from her lungs.

“I love you, too,” she smiles, touching his cheek with a gentle hand, blue eyes finding brown. And then they are lost in the moment again, caught up in the physical motions.

But later, when they lay cramped on the couch, Sansa’s red hair spread out across his chest, their legs entwined, her eyes closed but he know she’s awake, Jon says it again. “I love you, Sansa,” he murmurs it, so softly that at first she wonders if she’s only imagined it. But she cracks open an eye, shifting where she lays against him, only to find him already gazing at her. She props herself up onto an elbow, hair falling into her face as she peers at him with that steady, intense gaze of hers. “More than anything.” He reaches out, fingertips just barely tracing the outline of her jaw as he studies her beautiful face. When she smiles, it lights her up like a flame that burns from within, her cheeks blooming with color as she brings herself close enough to kiss him quick.

“I’m still not giving Ghost his bath,” she replies and the jaunty shrug of her shoulders as she returns to his chest makes him laugh. After several long moments of silence, she breaks it. “I do love you, too.” Her voice is soft, sweet, and Jon can do nothing but stroke the length of her red hair, happier than perhaps any man deserves to be.


	58. in the end, it's all going to be fine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quick warm up piece.  
just a sweet moment before jon leaves for king's landing.

The room is cold but he is warm. 

With his arms around her, she feels as if she can do anything, as if she can conquer any nightmare, fight away any fear. The warmth of his skin against hers, the weight of his arms around her, these things bring her comfort. They bring her hope. "Sansa..." Her name is soft upon his lips, something like a plea, and it brings her back to the moment. She raises her gaze to meet his, drawing back from where she had been leaning into his shoulder. Jon smiles, softening as their eyes meet, his hand reaching out to stroke the soft skin of her cheek. "What are you thinking about?"

It's her turn to smile. 

"You." She admits after a moment, reaching up her own hand to slide into place over his there against her face. They've come a long way since that day so many moons ago when she stumbled back into his life through the gates of Castle Black. Back then, she had no faith in any man, no hope for the life that was hers. But Jon... He had breathed life back into her heart and faith back into her soul. It was Jon that restored her faith in others, it was Jon who proved to her that there was even just one person in the world that loved her for her, not for her name or title or anything else. Jon loved her, despite the barriers between them. Well, that were once between them. 

Jon had told her about the truth of his birth; not a bastard born of her father, but the true born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and her own aunt Lyanna Stark. Jon was not her half brother, but her cousin. And more than that, Jon was the true heir to the Iron Throne. It was his to claim, not Daenerys'. They both know the war for the Iron Throne meant safety for them, for the North, that whoever sat upon the throne would rule over all of Westeros. But not the North. Never the North, Sansa had promised that. The Iron Throne isn't what he wants, but if it means protecting her, protecting their family... Then he knows it will be his in the end. 

"Stay with me..." He murmurs then, leaning in so he can trail his lips across where his fingertips once traced. Soft, but warm kisses that follow the outline of her jaw, his lips hesitating as they move across hers. "Stay with me tonight." Tomorrow he will leave with the soldiers to head for King's Landing, towards a new future. When her lips find his, it's enough to leave him breathless, yet when she draws back with a embarrassed sort of smile, he's longing for more. 

Slipping her hand into his, she allows him to lead her towards his bed, knowing that from this moment on, things were going to change. But she knows that there's one thing that won't ever change and it's the feeling she gets when Jon catches her gaze or offers his smile. Nothing could ever change what's between them, no war, no throne, and no dragon queen. As Jon tugs her down into the furs, his lips find hers and she knows without a doubt, that in the end everything would be well. 


	59. spring dreams in winter nights.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post s6 reunion angst. because thats what matters in this life.

It's the first night. He wants to speak to her words of comfort, but Jon finds his lips are frozen, his words all jumbled on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he watches as Sansa approaches the window, palm pressed against the frosted window pane. She leans in, as if she means to look out, but thinks better of it and rather she turns back to face him. Behind him, nudging his way into the room, is Ghost. He sweeps by his master to sit at Sansa's feet, blinking up at her with those blood red eyes. "Good boy, Ghost," she whispers, patting the wolf between the ears, before returning her gaze to Jon's face.

Again, silence descends.

Jon's trying to find the right words to say to her, this sister of his that's been so truly failed by this world. He imagines her... A frightened girl in the clutches of a mad boy kind. He imagines her bullied and beaten by men twice her size, living in a world where there was no one to protect her, no one to keep her safe. And then... Just when she thought herself to be saved from her fate in King's Landing, she traded one nightmare for another. He can't think about her with Ramsay. He can't, he just can't. "Jon..." Her voice is soft, but it brings him back. He reaches for her, gently, but she flinches all the same. That breaks his heart perhaps more than anything else, a true testament to the suffering she's endured.

"I won't let anything else happen to you." He vows and when she smiles, he knows she doesn't believe him. But she will. Jon draws his hand back, but not before her fingers cling to his for a single moment. "After all that's happened... Us finding each other again, it means something." He can't say how he knows, but he does, he just does. He can feel it in his heart and in his soul. The flicker of doubt that had been within him since his rebirth has begun to fade, replaced by his need to protect her. Replaced with a new meaning in his life.

"We are broken, you and I." Her smile is soft, sad, but it brings one to his face, too. "If nothing else, we're meant to help each other heal." It's her turn to reach out, placing her palm against the place where only a few days before, his comrades had plunged a knife into him. Even if they don't get back Winterfell, even if they truly are the last of their family... They have one another. Finding Jon... It felt like fate. It felt like it was the path she was always meant to be on. For the first time since she left Winterfell all that time ago, she feels like she's where she's supposed to be.

Jon cannot find the words, but the feel of her hand pressed against his chest lasts long after he's left her chambers to go to his own. As he sinks into his own bed, Ghost left behind in Sansa's, he thinks of her as she was in that single moment in the courtyard: lost, frightened, a ghost. He won't ever let her fall into the hands of monsters or men again, no matter the cost to himself. And then he sleeps, the first real sleep he's had since his resurrection.

A sleep full of dreams of blue roses tucked into red hair, of the whisper of silk against his hands as he runs them down a slender body. Dreams full of the scent of the gardens in spring, of the warmth of the summer sun.

Dreams that when he wakes, he longs to see again.


	60. i would go anywhere with you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a quick piece.  
set s8. prior to the fight with the night king.
> 
> i still like to believe sansa would have approached jon with comfort & love after her conversation with dany.   
so thats what i wrote.

She's so close, and yet... She's so very far away.

Jon keeps his distance, he knows how she must feel. Instead, he makes his way through the days, catering to the whims of his dragon queen and hoping that somehow, someway, things work out they way he wants.

It's day five, not that he's counting.

She's there in the great hall, her back to him as she speaks in earnest to Lord Royce and another of the lords. He creeps closer, just so he can listen to her honey-like voice not strained with pain nor anger. "The gates are to remain open," she's reminding them, ever concerned about the innocent people of the North. "Until the very last moment," the lord's are nodding, of course they are, they hang on her every command. She's more the queen than he ever could have been king. "And the storages... I know they were prepared not for the additional soldiers," her lip catches between her teeth, a nervous gesture he's seen dozens of times. "But speak with Agatha, she will know well on making what we have last as long as possible."

The two men nod and bow to their lady, leaving her alone. She turns and for the first time, her eyes find his. "You're good at this," he says, an echo of words she once spoke to him. The mask he's been wearing slips away and he's Jon again. She smiles, softly, faintly. "Better than me." This time she laughs and Jon is warmed by the sound. "Sansa..." He sobers, taking a single step closer to where she stands. "I must speak with you," he lowers his voice as other's begin to filter in, the evening meal only minutes away from being served. "Tonight. Please...." He can't help but to reach for her hand, the softness of her palm in his reminding him of why he's doing what he is. When she finally nods, Jon steps back from her, turning away as Daenerys enters the room, her silver hair a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room.

Once again, his mask is on.

[ x x x ]

When the knock sounds on his doors, Jon is standing at the window, listening to the soft screaming of the wind as the winter storm rages on. He turns, calling out to her, knowing it's Sansa before she's even there in the doorway. Despite the late hour, she's fully dressed in her gray wool gown, her hair partially twisted back in a knot of elaborate braids. He longs to pull the pins from it and run his hands through the long, soft length of red. "Thank you, for coming..." He says softly, as he comes to stand before her in the center of the room.

She offers him the truest smile he's seen in days. "We're family, of course I'd come." He doesn't deserve her softness, he deserves nothing but her contempt. "I'll always be on your side, Jon," she goes on, taking a step closer to where he stands, blue eyes seeking out his dark.

Jon reaches for her, he can't help it.

The moment she's in his arms, Jon knows it's what's right. She yields to his embrace, sinking into him, her face burying into the crook of his shoulder. It's as if this was where she's always meant to be. It was where she belonged. "Sansa..." Her name is soft on his lips and it draws her back up, though for a moment he can't draw his eyes from the curve of her rosy lips as she smiles for him. But when his eyes raise to meet hers, he's reaching out, fingertips tracing the outline of her jaw, leaving warmth in their wake. "I'm sorry," is all he can say before he closes his eyes, emotion threatening to overpower his resolve.

"For what?" Her voice comes, soft and slow, just a moment later. Jon opens his eyes and looks up, surprised by her single question. "I trust in you, Jon," she says, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "No one can shake my faith in you. No one." He blinks, as if he cannot truly believe what she says, and so Sansa reaches out to take his hand into hers. "I know you're doing what you think is right." Of course, she was upset at first, him bringing that beautiful Targaryen queen back to their home, riding into Winterfell at her side like a king consort. Of course, she was jealous of the silver-haired queen's soft beauty, all round edges where Sansa feels sharp. But behind that softness was a red hot anger, a violent nature like that of the monsters Sansa has known all of her life. Once she learned the truth of the queen, she knew that her trust in Jon was right as it always was. Jon would never betray her nor the North for this woman.

She's only sorry she's waited so long to tell him.

Hearing her speak, saying the words he's always longed to hear... Jon sucks in a breath, calming the racing of his heart, knowing that in all his life... The only thing he's ever done that matters was making her smile. Making her happy. He wonders how it's taken him this long to realize it. It's always been there, that feeling for her, even if he's tried to hide from it, to let it go. "Everything I've done, it's all been for you." He whispers, emboldened to speak the truth that's been safe inside of his heart all this time. "I swear it, Sansa. Since the moment you came to me at Castle Black... Every choice I've made has been because of you." It's her turn to close her eyes, reopening them a moment later, tears gathering upon her lashes. Despite the tears, she's smiling. I love you, he's thinking, over and over again, though his lips refuse to form the words. Instead, he does the only other thing he can think of.

He kisses her.

It's long and soft, it's slow and yet so steady it takes the breath from her lungs. She grips the front of his jerkin, the worn leather soft beneath her fingertips. He's kissed her before- once, the night before he left for Dragonstone- but it had not felt this way. This was a kiss of lovers, a kiss that says every unspoken thing, a kiss that is more telling than any phrase ever could be. When he breaks the kiss, it's hesitantly, as if breaking from her is the last thing he wants to do.

It is.

"Sansa, after the battle..." He trails off, for the dream he has for the two of them, how could it ever come true? But even now, it's the only thing he has to hold onto, the only thing that gives him hope. "After the battle and this is all over..." He grins, sliding a hand to the back of her head, feeling the pins holding her braids together. "We could runaway." The first pin falls free, then a second. "To somewhere where no one knows us." She's giggling, shaking out her hair as it falls free from the pins that once secured it. Jon can't help but run his hands through it, relishing in the soft feel of every strange between his fingers.

"I would go anywhere, if it's with you." She whispers a moment before his lips find hers again.

[ x x x ]

Later, he rises up from the furs, leaving her asleep in his bed.

He dresses quietly in the darkness of the room, the fire in the hearth nothing but embers now. For a moment, he stands at the side of the bed, peering down at her sleeping form- she sleeps so peacefully, a hand tucked beneath her cheek, red hair spread out across the white pillow she sleeps upon. Just the thought of her naked beneath his furs is enough to stir his loins, but he knows he must go. And so he leans over her, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. "I love you," he whispers the words he could not bring himself to say the night before, his hand gently brushing back a stray lock of her hair.

Though he longs to remain there forever, Jon finally pulls himself from the room, knowing that without a doubt, he would find himself in this very same place again.

But next time, he would not have to untangle himself from her.


	61. the one thing ive always wanted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quick s8 fix it fic.
> 
> we dont fuck with that ending in this house. set with the idea that the starklings knew jon would never go along with their plan, so they make one of their own.

When she appears in the doorway of his cell, his heart nearly leaps from his chest.

This... This wasn't a part of their plan, of their scheme. In the end, no matter the cost to himself, he would make sure Daenerys didn't take the Irone Throne. Bran had assured him he had seen the end and it was worth it, again, regardless of the cost to any of them. And so Jon had done it, he had plunged a blade into the dragon queen's heart and allowed her loyal soldiers to take him away in chains. He'll be sent back North, to what remains of the Night's Watch, he's certain, away from his family. Away from her. But, if she's safe, then that's all he's really ever wanted. 

But she's there, standing there, war braids twisted into her auburn hair, blue eyes clear as she peers down at him. "Sansa..." He whispers, voice hoarse, lips dry, cracking, aching. She offers him the most radiant of her smiles before she's turning away, his line of sight following over her shoulder towards those who stand in the hallway behind her. 

"Unchain him." Her command is simple, but the tone brokes no arguing. At once, a man dressed in Lannister livery comes forward, dropping to his knees with the copper key that releases his wrists from their shackles. His ankles come next. "Bring water." Her next command is softer, her footsteps echoing in the chamber as she comes forward. "Leave us," she says next, dropping to her knees before him, a hand reaching out, gingerly tracing along a bruise on his cheek. Only Jon can see the remorse on her ivory carved features, the sorrow that shines in her Tully blue eyes. When the others have gone and the door falls closed, she's flinging her arms around him, warm and safe, enough to bring a wave of emotion to his eyes. 

Jon closes his eyes, he breathes her in; she smells of war and roses. 

"How... Why..." He whispers, palm spanning the expanse of her back, wishing he could bring her even closer still. "The plan..." He pulls back, regretfully, but is rewarded with the glimmer of her smile. 

"You really thought we would allow you to be punished for doing what was right?" She asks, softly, her hand returning to his face. Her fingers trace the outline of his bearded jaw, a sight she's never seen in him before. She kind of likes it, if she's being honest. "You are a hero, Jon, even if you can't see that." He was the only reason any one of them was standing there alive. Daenerys Targaryen had claimed enough lives in this war, but she would not have stopped had the throne become hers. Sansa knows and knows well, the moment a crown sat upon the dragon queen's head would have been her last alive. 

There comes a knock to the door and Sansa rises, turning as it opens, the same man in Lannister livery arriving with a jug and goblet. Jon watches as he bows the bow of a man to his queen, raising up only when Sansa speaks. "Thank you," she says, pouring a goblet of water before she turns back to Jon, sinking back down to where he sits. "Slowly," she speaks softly, offering him the goblet, watching as he slowly drains the entire serving. 

"Sansa... What have you done?" He asks when he's finished, his Stark colored eyes finding hers. Somehow, he already knows. 

Her smile is somewhat apologetic, but she sighs before sitting back, black skirts settled around her. "I told you... We weren't going to let you be punished for doing what was right." She thinks back to that day, when Bran had pulled her aside and told her the truth of the vision he's seen. A vision that was of a crown of direwolves upon Tully red hair, of a Stark looking man standing at her elbow. A vision of a triumphant wolf, the dragon knocked down and discarded. Sansa had hoped, despite it all, to find a way where Daenerys didn't have to die, especially by Jon's own hands... But in the end, there was no other way. "We all know this... This isn't what you wanted." Jon knows, he understands. "Out there, the lords of the land chose their own ruler and it was me that they chose." She smiles at the shock on his face and instead pours him another goblet of water. "The North is still yours, if you wish to have it." She adds and Jon wonders how he could ever love a woman more than he loves her. 

"The North is ours," he replies softly, setting aside the water so he can slide his hands into place against her cheeks. "You are too good to be mine," he whispers and she chuckles, blinking fast against the tears that gather upon her lashes. "Should I call you my queen, now?" He asks, bringing another laugh from her rosy lips as she shakes her head. "I would rather call you wife," he continues on, admitting for the first time the wish he's always hung onto. The one thing, the_ only_ thing, he's ever truly wanted. 


	62. the night before the fight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jon & sansa spend a night together before the battle of the bastards.  
pre parental reveal hookup, read at your own risk. nsfw.

_You don't have to be here. **Yes I do.**_

Her words are an echo in his mind, a testament to her strength, a reminder of just how far she has come. Not so much the broken, ghost of a girl that rode through the gates, but rather a woman blossoming into what was hers. They will someday call her the Red Wolf of the North and he only hopes he might still yet stand at her side then.

The hour is late, but Jon still yet sits up in his tent, a lantern on the table the only source of light. He cannot sleep, though he knows he should, after all, tomorrow he must fight. But he finds himself kept awake by thoughts of her- of blue eyes and auburn hair, of a sweet yet hesitant smile. He knows it's wrong, these thoughts he has, but he cannot escape them. He has tried and tried again, but they keep coming back. He loves her, that much is certain, he loves her more than he thought possible to love another person. That is why he is going to war tomorrow, to protect her, to keep her safe, to take her home.

He knows what tomorrow may bring, but in the end, if it was for her, then he would gladly walk to his death.

Across the way, the tent parts.

Jon looks up as she steps inside, moonlight woven into her fire kissed braids; she's beautiful, more than any words can express. He cannot find his voice, not even when she steps up to where he sits. Instead, he rises to his feet, the gap between them minimal at best. "Sansa..." He finds his voice, but just so he can speak her name, a hand moving to her elbow; beneath his touch, her skin is aflame. "I thought you were asleep," she's dangerously close now, one hand pressing lightly against his chest. His heart beats so fast, she certainly must feel its pace beneath her palm and Jon can't help but to snake an arm around her waist. "What are we doing...?" He whispers, tipping his forehead down to meet hers, his other hand sliding into place against the curve of her cheek.

"What we always should have."

When she kisses him, Jon swears the world stops spinning, even for just an instant. It's a slow kiss, long and he's certain it says everything they've ever needed to say to each other. She pulls back, but he tightens his grip where it rests at the small of her back, drawing her close again. "I would not dishonor you," he breathes, his lips just barely brushing against hers, his hand sliding further up until his fingers thread through her hair. He knows what people will say if they knew, what shame he would bring to her name if they were caught like this.

And yet... It feels worth the risk.

"All my life, every choice has been made for me, forced upon me," her hands slide into place on either side of his jaw, raising his gaze to meet hers. "For once, I want to make one of my own." Jon holds fast to her gaze but then it's he who leans in, capturing her mouth with his, bringing her as close to him as he can. She parts her lips for him and his tongue meets hers, a deeper, much more intense kiss than the one they'd just shared. He's knocking pins from her hair, uncaring, gently tugging through her braids until her hair is free for him to run his fingers through. If nothing else, this is all he's longed for. "This is what I want," she breathes against his ear several moments later, her voice like silk. She raises her face back up and their eyes meet. There is no hesitation, no fear. "I want to know what it feels like to be loved," she whispers, the fear of the unknown giving her a confidence she's never before known.

He takes her by the hand then, leading her from where they stand to the bed that rests against the west wall of the tent. Sinking down onto the edge, he tugs her into place between his knees. "Turn around," he rasps and she does, casting him a glance across a shoulder that would have brought him to his knees, had he been standing still. With shaking hands, he begins to unbutton the tiny buttons that hold her gown together, taking it at a slow pace, giving her ample opportunity to speak up, should she wish to stop. But then, there are no more buttons for him to undo, and the gown is sliding from her shoulders. Only then does she turn back around so she can face him, holding the gown in place against her. "Sansa..." Again, all he can manage is the syllables of her name, but she smiles all the same. Then she lets go of the gown, allowing it to fall to the ground at her feet. Her chemise is all she wears beneath and Jon feels the ache in his loins at the night of her body beneath the thin material.

Taking a deep breath, he draws her down onto his lap, positioning her so she straddles his thighs, her arms falling into place across his shoulders as she leans in to kiss him. Once again he finds himself threading his fingers into her hair, the weight of her soft and warm in his lap. Nothing has ever felt like this before. He can take it no longer and he shifts her so he can unlace his breeches, allowing the length of him to spring free. It takes but a moment for him to feel the hesitant touch of her hand as she traces her fingertips along the length of him. "Go on," he encourages softly and she does, moving from her place upon his lap to instead the bed beside him.

Though her brain knows little of what to do, it's as if her body knows everything, and so she gives in to the pull of her limbs. She moves slowly at first, hesitantly, as she makes sense of the piece of him she's never seen before. Her hand runs the length of him, gently, slowly, until his hand slides into place over hers, moving it at a pace he enjoys just a little more. He's groaning then, his head tilting back as pleasure rocks his entire being, the sight of his enjoyment bringing her some too. Never in all her life did she think that this was what time spent with a man could be like.

"Sansa," he's gasping her name in a way that sends chills down her spine. "Lay back," he commands softly and she does as she's bid, laying back against the pillow that smells of him. With soft hands he's tugging back her chemise, further and further up the length of her body, exposing every inch of her to him. When the chemise slides over her head, he tosses it to the ground at the bedside, drawn to the soft, creamy skin of her thighs, her hips, her breasts. He puts one hand against her hip, his thumb rubbing gently against a scar that sits there, left behind by a blade in Ramsay's hand. His mouth trails the curve of her breasts, lips pressing gently against another scar he finds, this one againt the right side of her collarbone. He feels her hands in his hair and he looks up, his eyes meeting hers, lips twisting with a smile.

He's moving then, hands pushing apart her thighs, fingers brushing across her most sensitive of places. Beneath his touch, she writhes in the furs, biting her lip to keep from crying out when a finger slides in. His touch lights a fire within her like she's never before felt and it sends shock waves through her. Another finger and this time she cannot keep the cry from escaping, the sound bringing a chuckle from Jon's lips. "Jon!" His name has never sounded lovelier falling from those rosy lips of hers. He brings her to the edge of her pleasure and his cock twitches as he watches her sink back against the bed, spent from the moment.

But he is not done.

Positioning himself between her thighs, Jon puts a hand back to her hip, tugging her closer to him. He slides himself into her folds, at once groaning at the feeling of her around him, having to take just a moment to catch his breath. But then he begins to move, the only sound filling the room that of her tiny gasps as he thrusts into her. She's finding her own way then, meeting his every movement with one of her own, their bodies meeting in the most delicious of ways. He leans over her, one hand pressing into the pillow beside her head, the other still yet clinging to her hip.

In this moment, nothing else matters; she's fought against the pain of loving a man she must call brother for all these weeks, but she can fight no more. Not when she knows tomorrow might bring... _No,_ she thinks, anchoring her legs around his hips so he can drive even deeper into her, _he will come back to me. _Jon is moaning her name, a sound like she's never heard before, this new placement of their bodies bringing them even closer than before. He's close to the end, they both know it, and he's fighting to keep going. But it's only a few more moments before he spills his seed into her, the release unlike anything he's ever felt before.

Dropping down onto the cot beside her, Jon draws her in, shaking and sweating; she feels like home. "You'll come back to me, won't you?" She whispers so much later, Jon has thought her to have fallen asleep.

"I promise, I'll come back to you." He breathes in the scent of her hair and tugs her closer.

She nods and sinks into him, no choice but to believe him.

She'll always believe him.


	63. at your side i'll always be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i guess we could call this a s8 fix it fic   
spans from the night of the feast to the finale episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took me 6 days & i still hate it lmao

A knock comes later. Much later.

She's dressed for bed, a white nightgown, her fur robe thrown over her shoulders, hair a single plait down her back. When the knock sounds, she looks up from where she sits in the window seat, head pressed against the frosted plane of glass. Outside, snow drifts down, covering the ashes of battle, as if to say it had never even happened. But they would not forget. No one could ever forget.

"Come in," she calls out, softly, turning back to look out the window, thinking it only to be Brienne come to check in on her, for her lady knight had yet to return from the celebration feast. She hopes, with the flicker of a smile, that Brienne might not come at all, perhaps finding herself a little bit of happiness she deserved. But those footsteps do not belong to Brienne and when Sansa looks up, she already knows it's him standing there. "Jon..."

He's drunk and he knows it.

Perhaps it was wrong of him to come to her rooms like this, but when Daenerys had fled from his rooms... Seeing Sansa was the only thing that could calm the racing of his heart. Hearing her voice was the only thing that could return the peace to his mind. "I'm sorry," he begins, chuckling in spite of himself, hand up to awkwardly run through his unruly curls. "For coming here like this." She's soft and still in the window, surrounded by the moonlight, a vision in white and fur, looking up at him with those blue eyes of hers. Eyes he can lose himself in, eyes he could drown in, _willingly_ drown in. "I had to see you." Alcohol has given him courage and he thinks back to her down at the feast, smiling in the golden firelight. I believe in you, she had said to him then, words that filled him with warmth. "I wanted to make sure you were alright... You left the feast so suddenly..."

"I'm fine," she says, shoulders lifting in a shrug. _That's not true,_ she thinks, wondering just when it became so easy to lie. "I was tired." If Jon wonders why she's still awake then, so many hours later, he doesn't ask. Instead, he approaches her where she sits, dressed in just his breeches and white shirt, stumbling ever so slightly. _He's drunk,_ she realizes, unable to help but to smile as he sinks into the small space available on the window seat, pushing a pillow to the floor to give himself a bit more room. "I am surprised you're not asleep yourself," she chuckles, though she sobers when something dark crosses his face. "Jon...?"

He's staring, transfixed by the sight of her; the softness of her smile, the way moonlight entwines in her vibrant red tresses. If he could, he would stay right there, in this moment, forevermore. "I couldn't sleep," he answers, not really a life, but also not really the truth. He sees her hands, tucked over her knees, and it's all he can do to keep himself for reaching for her.

"Me either," she admits after a beat of silence, a wane smile appearing upon her lips. When she sleeps, she dreams, and dreaming is one of the last things she wants to do. Even now she finds herself tormented by the wails of the dying, the sick sound of flesh tearing from bone enough to turn her stomach.

"I sent you down there... To be kept safe." He murmurs, taking her hand into his, emotion filling him up, threatening to spill over. "I'm sorry, Sansa." She grips his hand back, tears welling in her eyes, making them shine like gems. Before he can say another word, it's her that's reaching out, drawing him into her. She holds him close, her embrace warm and gentle, her chin tucked into place against the top of his head. When the tears come, she says nothing but sweet whispers of comfort, though her own tears drip down her face. He doesn't know how long they sit there together, a tangle of limbs, his head pressing into her chest, her heartbeat a tattoo against his cheek. But finally, he finds the courage to raise himself from her, peering into her face that wears a look he's never seen before. A look of love, of such tenderness that he can barely breathe. "I thought you to be angry with me."

"I was," she admits, head tilting, a stray strand of red hair falling across her forehead. "But we have to trust each other, don't we? We have so many enemies..." He recognizes the words she speaks, words he himself had spoken to her only some months ago. A smile finds its way onto his lips and he nods. "I trust you, Jon, I trust you to do what's right for our family."

That's when he remembers.

The words he's wanted to tell her, the truth he should have given to her before the fight. But words he didn't know quite how to say. "Sansa, I... There's something I must tell you." The words he should have told her the night before stepping into battle, words he swore he would tell her if he came back. And he did come back, against all odds, he came back. "I'm not a Stark, Sansa." She opens her mouth, her usual protest, but he shakes his head. "My father... My father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

It's a whirlwind of emotions that rush though her- shock mixes with what she can only call relief, yet, there is pity, too... Pity for the man who all his life has longed to be a true born son of Ned Stark, but only to find he is not even the bastard of the man. "Jon..."

"My mother was your aunt Lyanna," he breaks in before she can say anything more, his gaze straying from her as he shifts away, as if he cannot stand to face her in this moment. "That is why your father took me in." It was true, it was said that there was nothing the Stark brothers would not have done for their beloved sister, Lyanna, who was said to have been kidnapped and raped by the Targaryen prince. "They were in love." His words are like a whisper and yet they snap her from her thoughts like a shout. "They were married."

She leans forward, hand to his arm, guiding him back to face her. "Jon, if that's true..." She can't believe the words that he's speaking to her. "Then it's you, not Daenerys that's the heir to the Iron Throne." He gives a single nod and Sansa swallows, reaching for him again, though this time his arms wind around her and he's the one drawing her in. "It doesn't change anything, you know," she's whispering a few moments later, her voice somewhat muffled from how her mouth is pressed against the crook of his shoulder. One of his hands is trailing her spine, though he finds he longs to undo her braid and run his fingers through her fiery locks. "You're still Jon... And you're still a Stark." She's smiling when she draws back, a hand reaching out to tenderly touch the bruise on his temple, head tilting as she gazes into his eyes. He's leaning in then, closer than they've perhaps ever been, her heart skipping a beat as his other hand falls into place against her cheek.

"There's something else..." He whispers, closer still, her lips a soft brush against his as he speaks on. "I love you." Those three words, settled upon his heart all this time, words that have both disgusted and delighted him. Love for a sister, half or not, was detestable. It was wrong, it was unfathomable... And yet... It had filled him with warmth, with peace. Being with Sansa... It gave his life a sense of direction, new meaning for a life that had once felt pointless. Once, he had been lost, but Sansa had found him that day in Castle Black and it was as if there was light again in his dark world of rebirth. But she's staring back at him, wide eyed in the moonlight, looking as if she doesn't dare believe what he's said. As if it's too good to be true.

And so he leans in, kissing her as he should have done weeks ago, months ago.

When Jon kisses her, the world stops spinning; but when it begins again, she finds herself kissing him back, warmth igniting in her belly that spreads through her every limb. In her chest, her heart beats wildly, a flutter of excitement racing her spine as Jon's hand slides into her hair. It's a moment she's wished for, a moment she's longed for, despite the distance between them. She knows what people would say if they knew the depth of her feelings for Jon... But he had saved her... in more ways than one. It was Jon that gave her the will to fight on, it was Jon that gave her something to believe in. He was the light guiding her through the darkness of her nights, a comforting hand to steady her whenever she was about to fall.

She breaks the kiss only so she may tip her forehead against his, a smile tugging at her lips.

"I love you, too."

[ x x x ]

Later still, when dawn threatens to creep over the horizon, Jon rolls over so he may face her where she lays in bed, smiling faintly when she opens her eyes. "It cannot be morning so soon," she groans, shifting as she lay there beneath the furs, content to stay there at least another hour or two.

"But it is," Jon chuckles, leaning over her so he might press a kiss to her temple, still marveling at his place in her bed beside her. "I should go..." He says quietly, though he too is loathe to leave her bed, especially when beneath the furs she slides a hand across his abdomen, the warm touch of her skin stirring him as it had done dozens of times the night before. "Or... Maybe I'll stay."

It isn't until the sun is high in the morning sky that Jon finally finds the will to untangle himself from her, knowing they would soon be discovered if they did not part ways. Besides, there was a war meeting to attend and so he climbs from the warmth of her arms and bed to find his breeches. "You will tell the others, won't you?" She asks as he tugs his breeches back on, bending down to retrieve his shirt and her nightgown from the floor. "They deserve to know, too, Jon... Especially..." She doesn't finish, but he knows what she means. He watches as she slides from beneath the covers on the bed, red hair falling down her back, pulled loose hours ago from that braid she'd tied it into. The moment she's pulled her nightgown back on, he's there, slipping his arms around her, drawing her in, breathing her in.

"Aye, I'll tell them," he murmurs against her hair, knowing it was only Arya that needed to know, for Bran was the one to learn of the truth, only after speaking with Sam. "Later today, after the war meeting." He draws back and she nods, feeling cold without him when he steps back, heading for the door. "I'll see you down there," he says with a grin and then he's gone.

[ x x x ]

She dreams of a dragon's screech, of the heat of fire, the stench of death.

It leaves her filled with fear like she's never known before. "Don't go," she whispers to him that night, when he's to leave the next day. "I'm afraid for you." Jon only smiles, touching her cheek before he leans in, kissing her as he's done as often as possible in the three days since the night of the feast. "Jon, please."

"I have to go," he finally says, brushing back a stray lock of her hair, though he wishes it were not so. If he could, he would never again part from her side. "You know what I have to do." He reaches for her hand and draws it to his mouth, tenderly kissing her palm. "I'll come back to you, Sansa, I promise." He raises his gaze back to hers and despite the tears that gather in her eyes, she's smiling.

She believed in him and so she would have to let him go.

[ x x x ]

When she steps onto the platform in the dragonpit, her gaze is sharper than any sword, falling upon any man there who dared speak against Jon. There was no mistaking it, the Lady of Winterfell would go to war with any one of the seven kingdoms, just to ensure the safety of Jon Snow. And truth be told, there was not many there who thought it smart to start a war with the she wolf of Winterfell.

In the end, she gets as she wishes, and Jon is brought to where she stands alone in the broken throne room of the Red Keep.

"Sansa...?"

She turns at the sound of his voice, tears filling her eyes as she lays eyes upon him for the first time in several weeks. "Jon!" She races forward, throwing her arms around him; his arms come around her and he sweeps her off her feet, relishing in the warm weight of her body. "Are you alright? Have they hurt you?" She's drawing back, her gentle hands combing him for injury, pausing as she finds the wounds from the shackles he had worn at his wrists.

"I'm alright," he says, his voice bringing her attention back to his face. "I... I don't understand. How are you here?" He is a man she does not know- in tattered clothes, with a darkness to him she's never seen before. This is a man that has seen new horrors that Sansa cannot begin to imagine. Arya had worn a similar look when she found her in King's Landing only the morning before; the look frightened her.

"I came to rescue you, of course." She says after a moment, offering him a smile; it isn't until he sees it that he realizes just how much he's missed seeing it. For a moment he must pull her close again, holding onto her as if he believes she might vanish at any moment. For all these long weeks, the mere thought of her has kept him going, despite his belief he would never have saw her again. In truth, he was able to live with that, just knowing she was safe from harm. There was no one left in the world who would dare mess with Sansa Stark or Winterfell again. And so... He would have gone to the wall or to his death, if that was what fate had in store for him, because she was safe and in the end, that was what mattered most to him. But it seemed fate had another future in mind for him, though he supposes Sansa had a strange ability to twist her future into something better, into an outcome that was better than the current.

When he draws back, her cheeks are full of warmth and color, giving her a radiant sort of look he's never seen before. "But..." He shakes his head, disbelief still yet clinging to him. "You came all this way... You came to King's Landing?" She once swore she would never step foot in this place again, not for anything, but there she was. For him. She had come for him. "Were you going to start a war, sweetheart?" He's softening, he's becoming again who she knows so well.

"If I had to," she admits, shoulders lifting in a slight shrug, as if he speaks of the weather. "I've come to take you home and I won't leave without you." Her rosy lips curve with a smile as she runs a hand through his unruly curls, grown long in his weeks of captivity. Jon can imagine her- blue gaze fierce, lips spitting venom like a viper, a woman no man would dare fight against- arguing for him, fighting to bring him back to the North with her.

"Home?" He asks, as if he dares not believe what she says. But the way she's smiling, the way her hand reaches for his... He does believe her. He catches her hand in his, drawing it to his mouth for a kiss, an echo of their last moment together some weeks ago. "But what of the Iron Throne?" He asks then, gesturing towards the melted puddle of iron on the floor across the room from where they stand.

"Gone. Dissolved. Westeros is as it once was, independent nations, ruled by their own chosen leader." Sansa glances over her shoulder to where the Iron Throne once stood- she had so many memories within this crumbling room, but none that she cared to remember at all. Except for perhaps this one. She turns back to him, threading her fingers with his, uncaring of who might stumble upon them now. The truth of Jon's birth had been explained in the dragon pit meeting and soon, it would spread across all of Westeros that there was but one Targaryen left in the world. "King's Landing will be rebuilt, beginning with the demolished town so the smallfolk have a place to stay again. Bran is to remain here and rule, he was chosen by the other lords." Jon's gaze shifts from her face back to where the throne once stood, the memory of his last moment's in this room filtering through his mind. "They said the dragon took her away..." Sansa's voice draws him back and he turns to face her once again, nodding. "Back to Essos..." she wonders aloud, the same location where perhaps everyone assumed the dragon to be taking his mother's body. "Come... There's rooms that have been prepared." There wasn't much that wasn't destroyed in Daenerys' attack on King's Landing, but there was enough rooms left in tact for a small court to remain. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Jon lets her take him by the hand and lead him from the room.

[ x x x ]

She finds him on the deck of the ship, watching as King's Landing grows small in the distance.

It has been a fortnight since their reunion, since the day of the dragonpit meeting, and finally they were to return home. Leaving Bran behind had been painful, but as Jon slips his arm around her waist, she knows that she's never going to be alone again. And soon enough, Arya will return from her travels eastward and they will all be together again.

"I thought you were feeling seasick," he says as she leans into him, her gaze following where his once went, the highest remaining peak of King's Landing disappearing into the distance. "You can stay in the cabin, if you must." He was worried to find her huddled over a bucket in the cabin just moments after taking off from the dock, her lady knight gently rubbing circles against her back. She had sworn it to be from the ship rocking and waved him away, saying she would try to lay in the bed and find some comfort.

Chuckling, she looks back to him, taking in the sight of him; he looks healthy, with his face trimmed and his unruly curls secured in his signature bun. His smile is brighter than she's seen it in months, no longer like a ghost, he's a man that's been born again. Come to think of it, she too once felt like a ghost of her former self, never to find that girl she once was. Perhaps she might never find the Sansa who left Winterfell all those years ago, but the Sansa she's become isn't truly so bad. Besides.... There is happiness still yet to come.

"I think I've found my sea legs," she says, her words bringing a laugh from his lips as his hands place themselves against her hips, pulling her close. In the two weeks they spent in King's Landing, their relationship became quite evident to those around them and there would be no surprise when in a few weeks, they would certainly be married and crowned King and Queen in the North. And so here, on a ship filled with loyal Northern men, they are not worried about who might see them there.

His kiss comes a moment later, a long, slow kiss that weakens her knees, a kiss that steals the very breath from her lungs. When he pulls back a few moments later, he's just as breathless, but grinning as he tips his forehead against hers. "I might like to keep you in the cabin anyways," he teases and though her cheeks flood with color, she's smiling mischievously, telling him she's not that opposed to the idea. He kisses her again, this one full of fire, and his grip tightens at her waist, closing the gap between them. His lips are on the move and she can feel the gentle tip of his teeth on the soft flesh of her earlobe, his breath warm against her neck.

She's the one to break from this tender touch, drawing back with her hands on his shoulders, staring into his Stark colored eyes, a strange sort of smile on her lips. "There's something I must tell you," she says and Jon blinks, clearly surprised by her sudden admission. But he nods all the same, the only bit of encouragement she needs to speak on. "That night... After the feast..." Drunk as he might have been, he remembers, for how could he ever forget? Her smile does not fade as she reaches for his hand and draws it down, pressing his palm against the flat plane of her abdomen. "I'm with child, Jon."

At first, Jon isn't quite certain that he's heard her correctly. "With... Child?" He asks as she slides her hand into place over his, her face bright with her smile, nodding in response to his question. The realization of what her words mean suddenly sink in and Jon can't help but to sweep her off her feet in an embrace, his laughter carrying along the wind as he swings her back to the ground. Now he's understanding- things he had noticed, such as an unusual aversion to quail in King's Landing or the drowsiness she had explained away by the tireless hours she worked to help Bran make sense of the kingdom he'd been left with- all signs he had overlooked, not even thinking for a moment that such a thing were possible.

"It's early days yet, but the maester in King's Landing swears it will be a healthy babe." Sansa smiles, thinking back to that day only a week before when she had learned herself the truth of what had been ailing her day after day. "You're happy..?" She can't help but to ask, sobering slightly, knowing that this was perhaps not the way either of them had thought they would begin their new life together. Despite the peace of Westeros, there was still so much uncertainty ahead.

But she can't help but to smile again when Jon pulls her into a gentle embrace, holding her close, the sweet scent of her hair filling him with warmth. "I'm happier than I ever thought I could be," Jon admits when he's peering into her eyes once more, a hand falling into place against the curve of her cheek. "Happier than I might even deserve to be."

This time when he kisses her, it's tender, it's soft, it's a silent thank you. It's everything he's wanted to say to her, but could never find the words to use.

She must understand though, for when they break apart she's smiling. Her hand find his and Jon knows, there was no other place he wanted to stand more than at her side.

And that would be where he was, for the rest of his life.


	64. across the sea and back again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an au where jon smuggles sansa from king’s landing / winterfell & they run away to safety, where no one knows them, where they can be together. sansa would be a dress maker & jon would work with his hands somehow.
> 
> eventually they have to go back to claim what is rightfully theirs but 
> 
> just the thought of them living happy & safe, even for a short time, i love that.

As the ship steers away from the dock, he spares only one last glance at the place he's known all of his life. The North will grow small in the distance, but he turns his back to it. He cannot watch the cold shores disappear from his sight, instead, he will remember them as they look then: cold, frozen, but home.

Instead, he turns to face down the deck to where she stands, quietly watching the Northern shores fade from view. She must feel his gaze upon her for she shifts, blue eyes finding gray, and she smiles; this was home now. He approaches her as she tucks her lovely red hair beneath her hood, turning back as the boat rocks them on the cold sea. A hand to her elbow, he steadies her, reminded yet again that she's never sailed before. "Let's go down below," he suggests, and though she seems hesitant at first, she follows after him only a few moments later, casting one final glance back at the place they're both leaving behind.

Though it is still chilly below the deck, it is dry and they are free from the frosty wind and splashes of ice cold sea water. Even now as he looks at her in the lantern light, he sees her skirts are damp and she's shivering. "Here," he swings his furs from his shoulders and drapes them over hers, shaking his head when she opens her mouth to protest. "I told you I would keep you safe." His hand falls into place over her shoulder, a light grip, a comforting touch that sends warmth through her entire being.

Time seems to stand still, as it always does when Jon gets so close; why does she wish he would get closer? "Where will we go?" An echo of the words they had shared only a few nights ago. His hand falls from her shoulder and she feels uncertain without the slight grip of his fingertips.

Jon smiles, settling upon the single bed in the cabin. "To Lys." It is a place where it is not about a family name, it is a place where hired swords guard the gates and the most powerful men are the richest ones. He's heard the rumors of the place- beautiful people, the blood of old Valyria still running through even merchant veins. On one hand, they might stick out, but across the Narrow Sea, no one will know them. No one will find them.

Not ever.

"I have heard they love music in Lys," she is not afraid because she is a Stark, no matter where she goes, she will always be the blood of Winterfell, she will always be Eddard and Catelyn Stark's daughter. She crosses the swaying floor to settle onto the bed at his side, their shoulders brushing as she shifts so she might face him. "Will we be happy?" She asks, softer still, her only real fear. The nightmare of a life she's lived all these years disappears behind her, but the future of the one she has now remains uncertain.

Without a doubt, he nods. "I'll make sure of it," he vows, hand over hers, warm and strong. She smiles and leans into him, head to shoulder, hands still yet clasped together upon her thigh. "I promise, Sansa..."

And she believes him.

[ x x x ]

He wakes in the night, the ship swaying beneath him.

Sansa sleeps, curled against him beneath the furs on the bed, one hand tucked beneath the curve of her ivory cheek. He rolls so he can face her, his gaze adjusting to the darkness of the cabin, listening to the sound of her soft breathing as she sleeps. Complicated as they may be, the feelings rushing through him bring him a sense of warmth, a sense of comfort. He draws a hand from beneath the covers, fingers tracing along the length of her jaw, sharpened by her days of pain and hunger, but no longer darkened with bruises left behind.

"I'll keep you safe," he whispers into the dark, eyes closing as the sway of the ship and the soft sound of her breathing lulls him back to sleep.

[ x x x ]

Lys is a bustling city, full of far more people than King's Landing or the North ever was.

Jon finds them a small, modest cottage that sits along the outskirts of the town, surrounded by fruit trees. He takes up a job as a hired sword for the gate, though he has traded Longclaw in for a blade that is not as recognizable. Though he insists she needn't do so, Sansa sews the finest gowns for Lys' most powerful noble houses- silks, lawns, laces- fetching a living that will after a time certainly surpass his. The truth was, she enjoys the work.

When she isn't sewing gowns, she tends to the garden that sits out back behind the cottage. She's never done such a thing as this and there's not much more she enjoys than hearing Jon's chuckle when she comes inside, dirt smudged on her cheeks, skirts tied up around her knees. Time passes, days into weeks, weeks into months... In Lys, she lives differently, she lives freely, without the contraints of etiquette, without the fear of violence or abuse. Here in Lys, she lives as Jon promised... She lives happy.

_They_ live happy.

[ x x x ]

"Do you want a family?"

The question comes when they've been living in Lys for several months.

Jon looks up from where he sits, peeling lemons at their table while she stirs batter in a bowl. Sansa had never cooked a day in her life until they came to Lys, but like with most things, she was good at it. "A family?" He asks, both surprise and confusion settling into place, heavy like a cloak. His heart beat quickens, surprising him even more than the question she's asked. "I have a family."

She makes a face, shaking her head. "You know what I mean," she shoots back, setting the bowl she holds down onto the table as she stares at him with those big blue eyes. "A wife... Children..." She thinks of the children she's always imagined for herself, a boy she might call Robb and a girl that looks of Arya. As always, her heart aches at the thought of the siblings left behind, the family she's lost back in the North; the only thing she misses from the life left in the North. She thinks of them, the little siblings she never found, Arya and Rickon and Bran, she hopes they forgive her for leaving. She hopes they're alive.

For a long moment, he studies her face, Stark colored eyes finding blue. He rises up from where he sits, chair scraping the floor, his hand warm when it falls over hers. "I have a famiy, Sansa," he says again, offering her a smile as he squeezes his hand on hers. "I have you."

_I have you._

His words echo inside of her mind, the meaning behind them giving rise to a wave of emotion that she must blink away. "Jon..." His name is a whisper on her lips and suddenly, there is no distance between them. The breath catches in her throat, her heart beat skipping as she feels his arm wrap around her. He's warm and he tastes of lemons when his thumb brushes across her lower lip, the gesture sending shivers racing the length of her spine. Once, these feelings welling up within her left her feeling shamed, for he's her brother, albeit half, but their father's blood is one and the same.

And yet...

Here in Lys, no one knows them. There would be no one to shame them for the nature of their relationship. For once in her life, she is free to love as she wishes- to make a choice for herself without fear, without worry. So she kisses him. And when she feels Jon's lips press back against hers, she knows this is the right choice.

He was always the right choice.

[ x x x ]

It's the middle of the night and she stands at the window that overlooks the sea, which roars in the distance, the only light that of the moon in the sky above. Sometimes, in moments such as these, she truly misses the North. Winter had yet to find them in Essos, but she wonders if there will come a time where she will feel again the sting of the cold wind. She wonders if someday, she might again step into the blinding brilliance of pure white snow. To her surprise, tears fill her eyes and she closes them, recalling how once she had thought she would never feel cold again. That day... When she had escaped to find Jon, running through the frozen forest in just a thin gray cloak, she had been so cold that day. She'd have frozen to death, surely, if Theon had not found that old mare that took her the distance to Castle Black.

Those days... They were so long ago and yet... Sometimes, even now, they feel as if they had only just been yesterday. The truth was, she was only awake because she'd been dreaming of that forest again, running for her life through the trees, the howl of a wolf chasing behind her. But she had not been running for Castle Black in this dream, but to Winterfell. Now that she's awake she feels strangely empty... As if there was a piece of her missing.... As if...

"Come to bed, won't you wife?"

Sansa jumps at the voice, but she's smiling when she turns around to face him where he lays beneath the sheet on their bed. They've been married four months now, but she's not quite certain she'll ever grow accustomed to hearing him call her_ wife_. "I'm coming..." She murmurs, turning back to the window for only a moment more before she crosses the room and slips back into his arms. "I was dreaming..." She sighs against him, settling into place beside him with ease.

"Of what?" His breath is warm against her as he rolls closer, brushing his lips across her bare shoulder, teeth breaking the soft skin of her throat as a hand encloses a breast.

"Home."

The single word draws him back from her, it's meaning more than what it sounds like. "The North," his tenor vocals catch and he closes his eyes, as if it is too painful for him to think of what they left behind. "I miss it, too." He admits, settling back onto his side of the bed, though his palm remains where it was, her heartbeat a tattoo against his skin. We could go back, he wants to say, but he knows the truth, they can never go back. Not while the Lannister's still live, not when Ramsay Bolton still holds the North. She would never be safe there and so in Essos they must stay, no matter how badly either of them wished to go back. He had to keep her safe, it was all that mattered to him.

She turns into him, rekindling his motions from moments before, her mouth finding his as a hand threads through his dark curls. This is home now, she thinks as Jon moves between her legs, a warm hand pressing against the soft skin of her inner thigh. His mouth moves from hers and finds its place against her ear, his whisper warm against the shell of her ear. "I'm always home when I'm with you."

He was right...

Home was wherever they were together.

[ x x x ]

The first morning she wakes ill, she knows not what ails her.

But then a second morning follows, a third, even a fourth. By then she knows, by then she's come to see the other signs that came along with the morning sickness. Her breasts feel heavy and tender to the touch, so much so that even Jon's soft hands had caused her a new sort of torment just two nights before. Though the illness passes by the afternoon, she's left tired and irritable for the rest of the day, falling into a deep sleep each night with ease. Jon notices, but she says it's nothing, because she knows what could happen yet in these early days.

And so she keeps her secret tucked against her heart, if only for a few weeks more.

[ x x x ]

She's piecing together her latest dress order when Jon comes through the door, his boots heavy on the floor, a bowl of freshly picked fruit in his hands. "Welcome home," she greets with a mouthful of pins, various pieces of dark blue fabric placed around her, ready to be sewn together.

Jon stops where he stands, taking in the sight of her there, a smile curving on his lips. Sometimes, even now, he has to remind himself that she's real, that she's his. "Busy, sweetheart?" He asks as she approaches, settling down on his hunches just outside the circle of fabric that surrounds her only after setting the fruit aside on the table. "Ah, for Lady Rogare," he observes, noting the quality of the rich blue colored silk, a favorite fabric and color of the noble lady, one of Sansa's more notable customers. "You only just finished the yellow one for her." Sansa grins, pulling the last of the pins from her mouth, slipping it into place where a sleeve meets bodice, keeping it together until she actually sews it later.

"She was quite pleased with it," Sansa explains, thinking back to the delight the woman had shown at the sight of the yellow damask gown she had made most recently. "So pleased in fact, she ordered several more." Though long hours it would take her for each one, Sansa loves creating the elaborate gowns the Lys women enjoy, far different from the gowns of the North or even King's Landing. Daring and bold, the women only wore the lightest of fabrics in a vast array of colors- gowns in every color one could imagine, gowns Sansa's younger self only could have imagined existed.

Rising up to his full height, he reaches out his hand for her to take, helping her back onto her own feet that ache from her hours on the floor. "You're going to be kept quite busy," he remarks, leading her towards the table and helping her into a chair. She grins, thinking about the news she still yet holds onto. Busy indeed, she thinks with a chuckle that does not go unnoticed. "What's funny?" He turns back to her, brow arching as he peers down at her where she sits.

Somehow, this is the moment she's been waiting for.

"I have something to tell you," she says, standing back up so she might face him, reaching out to take his hand in hers.

His heart has begun to beat fast, as if deep down, he knows everything is about to change.

"I'm with child."

The breath stolen from his lungs, the world spins much too fast for a moment, and it is Sansa that guides him into the chair she had just vacated. "Are you certain?" He gulps when he finds his voice several moments later, his eyes wide as he stares up at her. At his expense, Sansa laughs, drawing his hand towards her, pressing his palm against the still yet flat plane of her abdomen.

Then she nods.

Just like that, the world seems clearer, brighter, as if this was what he's been waiting to hear all of his life. He jumps back to his feet and wraps her in his arms, happiness a warm surge through his every limb. "A babe..." He whispers, her laughter mixing with tears as he pulls her as close as he dares, relishing in the softness of her. "A babe of our own..." He draws back, just so he might look her in the face, his joy and shock evident by the expression he wears. "When?"

"Seven months, I'd say," she says, the best guess she can make in the timeline. "Around the time of Arya's nameday." Jon's smile returns and then he's pulling her back into an embrace, breathing her in, his body humming with the happiness that runs through him.

He's not certain any man deserves to be this happy, but he accepts it all the same.

[ x x x ]

"What shall we name him?"

They lay in bed together, the darkness closing in as the moon hides behind a stubborn cloud cover. "Him? It could be a girl, you know." Jon reminds her as he drums his fingers along the swell of her belly. But she shrugs, ever certain that it will be a son that comes in the next few weeks. "What do you wish to name him?" Jon flips the question back at her and she makes a face.

"I asked you first."

Jon chuckles as the babe moves beneath his touch, as if they can feel their father's hand through Sansa's skin. "Well... I did always think myself with a son I would name Robb." He would be a strong boy with the Stark looks, a boy that would roam with wolves and honor his family beyond all else. "And daughters, I thought I might have a handful of beautiful girls." He pictures those girls differently than he once did- for now he sees them born of her, with vibrant red hair and eyes the color of the summer sky.

Settling back against her pillows, she smiles, lost in the images he paints for her; a first born son clinging to her skirts, a second one in her arms, while a daughter grows in her belly. She can think of them all; the first a miniature version of Jon, with the Stark looks his namesake always wished he had. The second son would be a mixture of Tully and Stark, though more like his father in attitude. Their first born daughter would be little of her besides temper, a little dark haired girl that will steal Jon's heart. It would be their fourth child, another girl, that Sansa knows will come someday when they least expect her, but she will be their Tully redhead. She cannot explain it, but she knows these children will come to them, one by one, until their family is complete.

"Robb," she finally says, realizing that she's lost herself in thought, silence falling between them as Jon leans his head against her stomach, their babe twisting in the uncomfortable space that surely her womb has become.

That night she dreams of the godswood and giggling children. Beneath the heart tree, a foursome plays, a mix of dark and red hair, two boys and two littler girls. Four wolf pups play among them, a perfect pack, a little family.

When she wakes, she’s smiling. 

[ x x x ]

The day Robb is born, she dreams of Winterfell again.

It's lost to her, in the chaos that is labor, but when it is all done and she's propped up in bed, the infant in the crook of her arm, fast asleep, she remembers. "He will be King in the North," she whispers, leaning over the babe to press a kiss to his forehead. Jon laughs softly, for they both know it can never be true. Too tired to argue, Sansa only leans in closer, watching as Jon reaches out a gentle hand, fingertips brushing the soft head of dark hair their son has, a smile twitching on his lips. "Is it fair... For us to be so happy?" She asks softly, afraid to believe that this happiness could last. After everything they had been through, after everything that had led them to this moment, after all they had left behind... Was it right for them to find happiness like this?

Jon turns to her, one hand still on his son's head, the other reaching out to touch her cheek. "Of all people who deserve to be this happy... It's you, my love." His words are soft, they are the truth. Tears fill her eyes and she closes them against the emotions rising up within her, the smallest of smiles curving on her lips. "This is what I wanted for you," he leans in, brushing her mouth with his, gentle, tender, loving. "This sort of happiness is what I wanted you to have." A tear escapes and he catches it with his thumb.

Sansa lets out a deep breath and she nods; there was no way she could ever feel happier than this.

[ x x x ]

Robb is four months old when there comes a knock to their door.

It's the middle of the day and while the baby sleeps in his cradle, Sansa is sewing the last touches of a gown. Jon sits across the room at the table, sharpening the sword he's carried since taking the job as a hired swordsman. They exchange a quick glance, though it's not abnormal for such a thing to happen, there is something that feels strange about this knock.

Returning his sword to its sheath, casting aside his sharpening tools so he can rise up from where he sits, crossing the room to open the door. At the door is a woman, but a woman like he's never seen before. She's taller than any man he's ever met, dressed in armor of a Northern style, heavyweight for the weather of Lys. There's a sword strapped to her hip and another young man hovers just behind her in the yard, watching the scene unfold with a surprised gaze- as if he cannot believe what he's seeing. Before Jon can open his mouth to speak, Sansa is there, peering at the woman with wide eyes, an expression of true shock on her face. "Lady Sansa... It's you..." The woman whispers, tears filling her bright blue eyes as she falls to her knees. "I've been searching for you, all this time Lady Sansa..."

There was always hope, despite the doubt that nagged at her over the course of the last several months. There was always hope that she would find her, even when the rest of the world believed her dead. As she should have been- the price upon her head was higher than most criminals. Believed to be a participant in Joffrey's death, the Lannister queen swore a handsome prize for any man that brought Sansa Stark to her. And then of course there was Ramsay Bolton, who needed his Stark bride to solidify his stolen place at Winterfell. Though his price was not that of the Lannister's, it certainly was a sum that would keep many families supported in the coming winter months. But after the first six months of her vanishing from Winterfell, people could only assume she had perished in the cold forest, her body certainly to be found when the spring thaw came.

But Brienne had believed... She had believed she would find her.

And so she had traveled across the North, following any lead, any rumor that spread about Sansa's whereabouts. Eventually, the rumors quieted, and still she went on, knowing she could never give up her search. It wasn't until a second trip to White Harbor that she made a choice to get on a ship and sail for Essos, no reason to it except something tells her it's the right choice to make.

The ship lands in Lorath and she spends three months combing the city for any sign, any rumor, anything at all that will tell her that Sansa is there. But three months in and she's left no stone unturned in the port city, checking even the brothels to find her lady. It wasn't until she's walking through the main market that she overhears something interesting. "...That dressmaker in Lys!" A woman is saying, smiling as she sways her skirts back and forth to show off the detail in the glimmering fabric. "Isn't it lovely? She's quite talented, my father paid for three more for me!" Brienne listened for several seconds more, though the conversation turned and there was nothing else she could learn from eavesdropping.

However, that single piece of information proved quite fruitful, for after an inquiry at a local merchant, she learned more about the Lys dressmaker. Enough that she sets out for Lys that very next morning, finding herself at the door of the small cottage where the dressmaker lives. And it's her... It's her... After all this time... It was her.

"You must come home," she speaks, staring up into the face of the young woman, who's blue eyes peer back at her, still wide in her ivory features. "The North needs you." As if these words knock some sense into her, she shakes her head, turning away as if she means to end the conversation. "Please, Lady Sansa..." Sansa pauses, shifting back ever so slightly, lids sweeping closed over blue eyes, a hand curling into a fist at her side.

"I can't go back." Sansa finally speaks, turning back to face the lady knight. She thinks back to that first time she met Brienne of Tarth, who had tried to get her to come with her back then, offering her protection from the world around her. But, Sansa had trusted in Littlefinger and went to her marriage with Ramsay Bolton, a decision she knows she will regret until her final breath. Jon is at her elbow then, his touch steadying her where she stands; as always, it is him that brings her comfort. "I'm sorry you've gone out of your way to find me here, but please, I ask that you tell no one where I am." Sansa holds her gaze steady with the woman, taking a step forward, arm pulling free from Jon's grasp. "I can never go back North."

From his cradle, Robb lets out a wail and Sansa turns from the knight in her doorway to fetch the crying infant, cradling him to her breast, comforting him quietly. Brienne rises up from her knees, shock rocking her body as she takes in the sight of the baby Sansa holds- too young to be Bolton's child... Brienne's gaze shifts to the man in the room, who's Stark looks were undeniable, and now that she looks carefully, the baby was quite the same. Her mind is racing, reeling, with this new realization and understanding just why she says she cannot go back North. "My lady... If I may speak freely..." Brienne takes a step closer inside the door, a hand clenching into a fist at her side. "Ramsay Bolton has your brother, Rickon, in his dungeons at Winterfell."

Robb nearly slips from her grasp and she sags with the weight of these words; it is not Jon who reaches her first, but Brienne, who steadies the young woman with a surprisingly gentle hand. Sansa tilts her head back so she may look the lady knight in her eyes, blinking against the tears that gather in her own. Jon is at her side then, carefully taking their now smiling son from her arms before he steps back to stand just behind her, his eyes never straying from the woman in armor. Rickon, he thinks, recalling the little child he had left behind in Winterfell all those years ago. "Are you certain?" Sansa hears herself ask, though the voice sounds foreign to even her own ears. When Brienne nods, she winces as if struck, closing her eyes for a long moment. She opens them and casts a glance across her shoulder to where Robb gurgles happily in Jon's arms; protecting him... That was all that mattered to her.

And yet...

"Sansa, you know we must go." It's Jon's voice then, soft but encouraging, forcing her to turn around to face him. "The lone wolf dies..."

"But the pack survives." She finishes and Jon smiles, reaching out to tenderly touch her arm, giving her the courage she knows she needs.

"We can't just leave him." Jon says quietly and she knows, she knows. "We can find Arya and Bran, too." They could be a family again.

Deep down, her mind was made up long before Brienne spoke of Rickon. Her heart is hammering hard in her chest when she turns back around to face Brienne, the knight that has chased her across Westeros, even after she turned away from her. It feels strange, knowing there was someone so very devoted to her. "Brienne, will you take us home? Will you take us back North?" She asks and once again, Brienne is on her knees, sword raised in a gesture of fealty. Once, men had bowed to her father like this, had bowed to Robb like this... She takes a deep breath and accepts the vow offered to her, giving the knight one back of her own.

She turns back to Jon, leaning into him as his free arm slips around her waist, her hand reaching out to brush back the baby's soft, dark locks. "It's time to go home." Jon murmurs and she nods, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder.

And so home they would go, back to the North, back to Winterfell. 


	65. a gift of love, a gift of hope.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jon has a gift to give to sansa.

There's a stillness to the air she's never felt before. 

She stands upon the battlements, overlooking the final preparations for the upcoming battle as a light snow begins to fall, wondering just when the moment would truly come. They play a waiting game; waiting for the Night King, waiting for death itself, the fear of what's to come clouding every mind within Winterfell. A sigh escapes and she closes her eyes, thinking tonight might be the first night she prays again, if only she knew the gods would listen.

"Sansa?" 

She jumps, startled by the sound of the voice, though she relaxes at the sight of him standing there. "I've been looking for you," Jon says as he steps up beside her, their shoulders just barely brushing, but it's like an electric shock all the same. "I want you down below, in the crypts." He speaks on, shifting so he can look at her, only to find she's already turned to face him, blue eyes shining in the dying sunlight. "You'll be safest down there." She nods, she's already accepted that her place is out of the way from those who can actually make a difference. "I... Have something for you." Sansa blinks, a brow arching in silent surprise. "It isn't much, but I had Gendry make it for you." 

Jon fishes in his cloak pocket and from inside he pulls a small box which he extends out for her to take. She does, cradling the box in her palm with one hand while she tips back the lid, revealing to her the gift Jon has had made. It's a direwolf pendant and as she draws it from inside, she sees it's been made from dragonglass, which gives it a strange yet beautiful metallic color. "Jon..." She breathes, looking up with wide blue eyes, her mouth hanging open in her shock. "It's beautiful." Her eyes return to the pendant, a fingertip tracing lightly along its every detail, wrought with such delicacy she she cannot believe it's been made with human hands. "But why?" She looks up again, surprised by his gesture, but even more surprised to see his cheeks fill with color, unable to meet her gaze. 

"These furs... They were the first gift I've had since I can remember..." He speaks quietly, tugging at the furs he's wrapped in, sewn with her own hands for him. "I wanted you to feel like I felt that day, when you gave me this." Perhaps the fear of the unknown, the fear of what's to come, has given him the courage to speak so honestly with her. There's more for him to say, so much more, but he has yet to find the courage for those words. He raises his gaze back to meet hers and she's smiling, the sunset's glow threading through her hair in such a way that he must keep himself from reaching for her. 

But she's handing the pendant back to him so she can turn around. "Clasp it, won't you?" She asks, glancing at him over her shoulder, causing him to suck in a breath before he nods, closing the minimal gap between them so he can unhook the simple clasp and swing the pendant around her neck. 

"Your hair..." He murmurs, helping her to brush it across a shoulder, not really that surprised by how soft it was to his touch. Somehow, despite somewhat shaking hands, he manages to clasp the chain together again and he steps back, unaware that he's holding his breath when she turns back around. The pendant stands out against the black of her gown, a reminder of her name, a reminder of just who she was. "It suits you..." Just as he had known it would. It's her turn to blush and the sight of her rosy cheeks fills him with a sense of warmth he cannot begin to explain. "Sansa... There's something else..." He begins, knowing there's words he needs her to hear, words he has to say before he steps out onto a battlefield. 

Just in case.

It's a moment later that her hand slips into his, small but warm, and he finds himself squeezing it back, never wanting to let her go. "There's time to talk, isn't there?" She smiles again, head tilting as she peers back at him, red hair falling across her shoulder. Since he cannot find his voice, he merely nods. "Come on then." She gives his hand a tug and his feet follow the path that she makes, leading him back towards the stairs that will lead them down into the courtyard and thus back into Winterfell. 

They find themselves at the door to her chambers and she pulls him in, allowing the door to fall closed behind them. It might be an hour, it might be several, but on what could very well be their final night alive... Suddenly, words don't feel like enough. "Sansa, I..." His voice is strained, rasping, brain whirling as she hovers near, the scent of roses and snow clinging to her red hair. He has faced down monsters and men of all kinds, none quite as fear inducing as this moment; his tongue twisted, he shakes his head, chuckling in spite of himself. 

"Say it." She whispers, closer still, so close in fact he can feel the softest brushing of her lips against his when she smiles. 

"What if it changes everything?" He's catching her cheeks between his palms, gazing into her eyes.

"And what if it doesn't?" 

Jon blinks, but something warm is rushing through him, a new sense of understanding taking root. "I love you, Sansa." He says finally, the words that he's held onto all these weeks coming out in a single breath. "When the battle is over... When the Night King is defeated..." She's leaning in again and Jon slides a hand into her hair, knocking pins loose as he threads his fingers through her silky locks. "I want to stand beside you." In the end, everything he's done... Since that day she came through the gates at Castle Black... Every choice, every decision, they all had been for her. Every moment has led them to where they stand now. 

That's when she kisses him, hesitantly at first until Jon slips his other arm around her waist, palm pressing against the small of her back. It's a slow kiss, a long kiss, one that leaves them breathless when they break apart a few moments later; Sansa's cheeks glow with color and Jon finds he enjoys the sight. "That's all I've ever wanted," she admits softly, her forehead tipping against his, unwilling to draw herself from his embrace quite yet. To be loved for her, not her name, not her title... A dream from childhood that she thought she might give up on, but she's found herself that prince, even if he wasn't so golden as she'd once imagined him to be. _Not a prince,_ she realizes then, _a knight. A brave knight, as father once promised._ "You must promise to come back to me," she's far more serious now, holding fast to his gaze. "That when the battle is over, you'll come for me from the crypts." 

"Aye, I'll come for you," he murmurs with a nod, a grin tugging at his lips. "I promise." 

[ x x x ]

He leaves her fast asleep in bed, safe and warm tucked beneath the heavy furs. 

When he's dressed, he comes to stand at the side of the bed where she sleeps so soundly, unable to help but to smile at the sight of her there. For a moment, he's hesitant to leave her, but he knows what will happen if they're discovered together, even by her faithful lady knight. And so he can only lean over her, pressing one final kiss to her temple, hand gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. She sleeps peacefully and for that he is thankful- Jon knows how little she sleeps, even if she would never admit it. 

Slipping from the room, he makes his way down the hall to his own rooms which sit just at the end of the hall from her own. Once inside, he sinks down onto the edge of his own bed, thinking back to the hours he'd spent in the bed that did not belong to him. He thinks of her, teeth sinking into his shoulder to keep from crying out. He thinks of her wearing nothing but the pendant he'd given her, of her slender legs wrapping around his hips... Despite living through it all, he's still having a hard time believing any of it was real. 

He can't quite grasp how a man such as himself could ever be so lucky, but he won't fight it, he won't give it up. Not for anything. He would face the undead and he would face the mother of dragons and in the end...

They would be happy. 


	66. be my king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just another wildling jon x sansa

She's soft and yet she's so very fragile.

"What?" She whispers when she catches him gazing, rosy lips curving with the slightest of smiles. She likes this, this game that they play. He can only shake his head, slipping his arms around her waist so he can draw her in close enough to kiss. "Jon...?" She whispers when she draws back, suddenly solemn, her blue eyes meeting his with her intense gaze. "What is it?" 

She's stepped just out of his grasp and he feels cold, empty, without the feel of her against his skin. And so Jon takes a step forward, closing what minimal gap was there between them. "I was only thinking about how beautiful you are." He answers honestly, though she scoffs at his reply, shaking her own head. "I mean it." Jon grins, shrugging as he presses a palm against the small of her back, leaning into her so he might breathe in the sweet scent of her hair. "I am bewitched by you, you know." He hears her laughter, so soft and like honey, a sound that surely would melt even the iciest of hearts. "Tormund says it is the color of your hair, that it is how you weave your spells." He's twisting a silken red lock around a finger, still yet able to recall the first time he saw the color from a distance, the sight of the North's queen standing in the snow as he approached her on horseback an image burned into his mind. The Red Wolf of Winterfell, she was a queen of strength, a queen that would bend to no will but the will of the North. Many men had tried to lure her into submission over the years- those men were all dead. 

"I thought the wildlings thought red hair to be lucky," she giggles, her voice bringing him back from thoughts of the past. Past. It's hard to imagine how long he's been there at Winterfell already. "Not a sign of witchcraft." 

It's Jon's turn to laugh as he finally pulls back to look her in the face, her ivory features carved with light. There were many who would whisper that their icy Northern queen certainly had thawed over the many weeks that the King Beyond the Wall had been in Winterfell. Some might even daresay she looked soft, like a woman in love. "I forget you noble folk despise witchcraft." He teases as he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. 

"I've been called a witch before, you know." She wags a finger in his face, escaping his grasp so she might gesture towards the window across the room. "It was said that I killed Joffrey with a spell and freed myself from King's Landing by turning into a wolf with bat wings." Those days felt like a lifetime ago, and yet, they weren't so very far behind her. 

"And did you?" He asks and she turns back to face him, blue eyes dark but her lips smiling. 

"No," she admits with a shake of her head, returning to his warm arms, sinking into his touch without hesitation. "But I would have." 

Jon knows little of her time in King's Landing, she speaks so rarely of it, saying she only wished to forget those days. But he's heard the rumors, he's heard the things said about the mad boy king and his court; if Joffrey were not yet dead, Jon would certainly ensure he would be. "If you are not a witch..." He speaks softly, his words drawing her face up from where it's buried into his shoulder. "Then it isn't a spell that draws me to you." He's known it all these long weeks; he's known it in every glance, in every touch. 

"What is it?" She asks for a second time that night and she's close, closer than she's been. 

Her lips just barely brush his when he chuckles, his palm catching her cheek. "I love you." He says the words simply, bluntly, easily. They come so naturally, it's as if they were words he's always been meant to say. Her mouth opens in surprise and it's then that he leans in, capturing her lips with his own. The kiss is long and slow, her hands sliding into his unruly curls as his other hand snakes back around her waist. Finally, when they break free, she's breathless and smiling wildly, cheeks twin blooms of color. "I want to stay here with you, in Winterfell." The Free Folk are to leave soon, their pact of peace with the North solidified only days before. "I can't be apart from you." 

After a beat of silence, she traces her fingertips along the outline of his jaw, smiling tenderly as their eyes meet. "Stay," she whispers, blue eyes filling with tears. "Stay with me and be my King." 

Jon kisses her, the only answer he knows to give. 


	67. love is what brings us together, never to tear us apart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quick piece, set post s6 reunion / retaking of winterfell.

The blue of her eyes stings him, haunts him.

How she had looked at him that day, riding through the castle gates, looking less like a girl and more like a ghost, it was an imprint upon him. Something he can never forget. Even now, several weeks later, when her bruises have faded and her smile somewhat returned, Jon can see a glimpse of that girl again. Fear leaps into his throat, tightening his chest, reminding him that now... Now he has something to protect. Death had tried to claim him, but there had been something that brought him back, something that had said no, it's not to be today. And though it was the Lord of Light, that red priestess, that woke him from his eternal slumber, it was neither of those that truly brought him back to life.

"You're staring again." Sansa's giggle brings him from his thoughts and Jon can't help but to grin as she leans over him, the ends of her hair brushing across his bare chest. Jon reaches up so he can tuck a strand of hair behind an ear, though his hand does not fall away, but rather slides into place against the curve of her cheek. She leans into his touch, soft and slow, a smile spreading across her face, changing her, brightening her. He has missed the sight of that smile, once so easy to fall into place, a soft laugh never that far behind. Sometimes, in their years apart, he had dreamed of a girl with autumn in her hair, a crown of roses tucked over her brow, the twinkle of laughter in the wind. Looking up at her, he wonders how he had never known it could be her. "What is it?" She's asking quietly, those blue eyes of hers burning brightly in the firelight that fills their shared chamber.

"Admiring you, sweetheart," he murmurs, trailing his fingertips along the length of her jaw, her ivory skin soft against his. "Sometimes I fear you're not real." It was too good to be true, these feelings, these moments... Sometimes he thinks he might wake up only to find it's all just been a dream. A perfect, wonderful dream. "And now I can't begin to imagine my life without you."

"I am real," she whispers, leaning down so she can kiss him- a long kiss, a slow kiss, one which she only breaks so they might catch their breath. "We never have to be apart again." Sansa's voice is warm against his neck as she brushes her lips against the hollow of his throat, the flutter of his pulse beneath the touch of her fingers. "Wolves always stay together." Jon smiles beneath her lips as they've found his again, his hands sliding into her hair, knowing there was not a single thing that could take him from her arms right then, right there. Wrong or right, he cared little for that, he only cares about her.

He's only ever cared about her.

[ x x x ]

When dawn breaks on the horizon, he's already untangling himself from her beneath the furs on the bed. Someone- Brienne, no doubt- has already been in the room and stoked the fire back to its golden glory, feeding warmth and light into the chamber. He dresses in the clothes left behind on the floor at the bedside, taking a moment to drape her nightgown over the back of a nearby chair, along with her robe, so she might have them when she wakes.

Despite wishing he could remain in bed with her, he knows what will happen if they're caught together by someone that isn't Brienne. And so he leans over her in the bed and kisses her temple, pausing just long enough to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. Though she softly stirs, she does not wake, rather she tucks a hand beneath a cheek and curls into herself beneath the blankets. Jon smiles and then backs away from where she sleeps, quietly opening the door to find Ghost asleep in the hall, a silent warning to anyone who might have approached the room overnight. "Good boy, Ghost," Jon whispers, sinking down to pat his wolf on his massive head. The wolf grumbles but head butts against Jon's palm before he slips into the room, where sure enough, Jon watches as Ghost climbs into the bed to take up the space where he had once been laying. Smiling at the sight, Jon lets the door fall closed and then he's gone, silently making his way into his own chambers that sit just at the other end of the corridor.

Once inside, he sinks onto the edge of his own bed, which feels empty without her in it. He feels empty without her next to him. But he smiles, thinking of her as she had been only the night before- straddled across him, red hair a waterfall down her back as she fought the urge to shout his name; or soft, illuminated by the firelight as she peacefully slept beside him. Every moment with her gave him meaning, gave him a reason to keep on fighting. She was what gave him the strength to wage war and take back their home. She was the reason he stood where he stood right then, the only reason he had not fled from the North when he came back to life. She was his reason for living, the only reason he believes in the Gods again.

Jon smiles, for he knows he loves her; he loves her better than he's ever loved before, he loves her better than he could ever love again.


	68. Beside the fire.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jonsa drabblefest, day 1.

It’s the soft sound of approaching footsteps that he hears first, followed by the gentle exhale of breath from between rosy lips as she settles down on the ground beside him. Their shoulders just barely brushing and yet he’s hyper aware of the heat of her skin beneath wool, unable to help but to wonder what it must feel like skin to skin. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks, to which she chuckles, drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she shakes her head. Somewhere in the distance, they hear soldiers shouting, drunk and stumbling around their own campfires as they spend what perhaps might be their final night alive. It’s a reminder that it is not just Jon that fights for her, that fights for Winterfell.

“Not anymore.” She answers, quiet as the night, but steady as the heart that beats inside her chest. The silence that falls is only broken by the crackle of their campfire, its golden light warm as if he had slipped his arm around her shoulders. Sansa wonders just when she went from swearing off the touch of any man to wishing that Jon might touch her again, might touch her more. She wonders why it doesn’t feel wrong to want that.

Beside her, he shifts so he might face her better, as if he means to commit to memory the shape of her profile illuminated there by the firelight. In just a few short days, he will walk out onto the battlefield, all to protect her, all to win back the home that belongs to them. Jon can’t quite say when it happened, but she’s suddenly become the most important person in his life, the one person he knows he can’t let down. That he won’t let down. When he steps out onto the battlefield to face Ramsay Bolton, he intends to win, simply to keep her safe.

He realizes then that she’s turned in to face him, too, her blue eyes bright in the firelight, wishing for a single instant that this moment never had to end. That there was no battle to be fought, no fear that Jon might not come back to her… That she might have to go back to Winterfell, back to Ramsay. No, she already has decided what happens if somehow, someway, Ramsay wins. But deep in her heart, despite it all, despite everything that told her otherwise, she knows Jon will win. That he will protect her, just like he promised.

And just like that, she leans in, head to his shoulder, closing her eyes as she settles into place. It doesn’t take Jon long to slip an arm around her, drawing her in just a little closer. Somehow, the warmth from their campfire couldn’t even compare to the way it felt so have her tucked against him.

It was a feeling he wouldn’t give up for anything.


	69. Jonsa Drabblefest, Day 1, part 2, linger.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i couldnt help but to write a second drabble for the other prompt <3

  
She lingers in the doorway of his room, trapped between what is and what could be. 

His gaze is dark, sharp, yet it does not cut; his lips part, the syllables of her name the only sound in the room. That's all it takes, that's all she needs to hear before she's striding back into the room- one step, two steps, three is all it takes for her to feel his arms wrap around her. "What are we doing?" He whispers against her hair, the scent of rosewater clinging to every strand. They've been here before, he's not ashamed to say, but something about this moment feels different than all the rest. 

"What we always should have done." Her voice interrupts his thoughts, bringing him back. Back to where he's always wanted to be. She finds his mouth with her own, soft and warm, her tongue slick as it moves between his lips. Jon knows the path in which she offers him and so he takes her by the hand, drawing her back towards his bed. Before he can speak, she's turning her back to him and his hands, hands meant for holding swords, begin to unbutton the twenty or so buttons that trace her spine. As the last one comes undone, the gray gown she wears slips over her shoulders, exposing milky white skin to him. Jon cannot help but to lean into her, arms around her so he might draw her in, lips pressing against the curve of her shoulder. 

When she turns back around, it's to let her gown fall to the floor. Jon sucks in a breath at the sight of her, swallowing down the lump that's so suddenly risen to his throat, one hand reaching out to pluck a pin from her hair, watching as the first braid comes tumbling down. One after another, until her hair is loose in his hands, does he pull out pins, casting aside every single one until he can grab a gentle fist full of her soft, sweet smelling locks. "Sansa, I..." I love you, I need you, I want you, so many options and yet, he can't bring himself to say any of them. 

But she's smiling, stepping out of her gown to gently push him back so he must sink onto the edge of his bed. There's no hesitation, no uncertainty in her movements as she climbs into his lap, her weight warm against him. "Don't talk..." She's whispering softly, her breath warm against the shell of his ear as her arms drape themselves over his shoulders. "Just love me." Jon draws back for a single moment, but his hand catches her cheek, his smile broadening as their eyes meet. 

Tomorrow he might have to leave to fight for a woman he doesn't believe in. To fight in a war he doesn't think to be right. But no matter, in the end, it's all for her. For the girl he draws down into his bed, kissing her with as much fervor as he can muster. Jon can only hope she knows, that she understands just how much he cares about her. How much he loves her. There was no one, not a single soul, that he placed above her. He had wondered how long they might linger between this place and the last, torn between giving into their darkest desires and remaining as they were, half siblings no more, it was true, but raised as such beneath one roof. This roof. However, now that they were here, Jon can't imagine ever being anywhere else. 

"I love you," he murmurs as they become one, her heart beating into his palm as she throws her head back, his name on her lips. 

"I know," she whispers back when she finds her voice, shaking, unaware that what they did could ever feel like this. "When you come back..." She's cut off by her own gasp, long legs crossing over his hips, somehow bringing him closer than before. "When you come back... We can be together, can't we?" 

Looking down at her, red hair spread out beneath her head, blue eyes wide open as they stare up at him, Jon knows it would take more than the mother of dragons to take him from her. No, he would return to her and he would put a son or two in her belly, daughters too, and they would be happy. They would be together and they would live the life they deserved to have. "There's nothing I want more." Jon says as he leans in, kissing her yet again, the warmth of her skin against his something he won't soon forget. 


	70. Stealing a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jonsa drabblefest day 2, prompt: stolen.

_"The Free Folk steal their wives, you know."_

She's heard this before of course, dozens if not hundreds of times over the years. Especially during that time where Jon and his band of wildlings helped to reclaim Winterfell in the name of House Stark. Back then, before an act of peace was solidified between the Free Folk and the North, people had whispered behind their hands about the "savages" and even Jon was considered a traitor among the Night's Watch for siding with Tormund and the others. He'd lost his life for it, in truth. But those days were gone, for the people of the North saw the loyalty of the wildlings to Jon and to the North. They fought (and won) for Winterfell twice now, had lost good men all for a House not a single one of them belonged to.

And so, upon her coronation, Sansa had done what no king nor queen had done before: she made peace. Since that day, once every moon the Free Folk send a liaison to discuss things- crime, the rebuilding of the wall, anything- and every single time they come, she hopes it will be Jon.

It never is.

It's been a long, hard year without him at her side and though she supposes she has a right to be angry with him, she isn't angry. She's lonely. It isn't just Jon that she does without- it's Arya, it's Bran, the last remaining members of her family aren't there at her side, either. So while she is happy to be home, happy to be in her place as Queen in the North, at night when that crown comes off and she's just Sansa Stark again... She's lonely.

"Your grace?"

She stiffens, cheeks flaming red as she realizes she's lapsed into a silence stretching far too long. "I'm sorry, Tormumd, what did you say?" She apologizes with a flash of a smile, though even the man that sits across from her sees it never quite reaches her blue eyes. It's the time of one of those visits with the Free Folk and as usual, it is Tormund that had come riding through the castle gates.

The orange haired man grins, shaking his head. "I said, wildlings steal their wives, your grace, and I don't see how it'd be any different to a steal a husband." He's still grinning that wild, lopsided grin, one that never fails to put her at ease. "Little crow is hard headed but if he sees you..." Tormund sobers, leaning forward slightly, blue eyes meeting blue. "If he sees you, he'll have to give up." In truth, Jon himself had told him that the only reason he sought isolation from Winterfell and from Sansa was because he knew himself to be weak. I don't deserve to stand beside her, not after what I've done, Jon had said once, some months ago. But if I go to her... How could I ever leave her? And so rather, he's stayed away all this time, hoping to someday hear that Sansa has found happiness in someone that wasn't him.

Suddenly, the queen that sits before him is smiling, sitting up a little straighter in her chair as his words take root in her mind. "Take me to him, won't you?" Sansa asks and at once Tormund leaps to his feet, grinning as he nods.

[ x x x ]

When they marry less than a year later, the rumors had already begun.

Rumors of the red wolf that slipped into the wildling camp unnoticed, stealing away from his tent the white wolf that once roamed the halls of Winterfell. Rumors of a wolf queen that snapped her jaws and took back what surely always was hers; the heart of a man that had risked everything to keep her safe


	71. Home is where you are.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jonsa drabblefest day 3, beyond-the-wall.

The snow that falls is soft and pure, blinding in the sunlight that spills in from behind the clouds. It collects upon her palm, melting against the warmth of her skin as quickly as it gathers. Though she stands further north than she ever has, out here beyond-the-wall, she almost feels at home. But, as she hears the call of her name, she wonders if it's more to the company she keeps, rather than the place that she stays. 

A smile curves on her lips as she turns, the sunlight catching his unruly curls as he makes his way to wear she stands just beneath the canopy of weirwood leaves. They have traveled nearly a mile into the Haunted Forest, to the only place where the weirwood trees still yet grow in the wild, untouched by man or beast. "Have you prayed to your heart's content, sweetheart?" Jon asks, somewhat breathless from his time spent wrestling with Ghost in the fresh dumping of snow, his hair and clothes damp. 

She can't help but to laugh- it warms her heart to see him so, with his easy smile and the shine to his eyes. This is a new Jon, someone she's not met before, but she enjoys his presence. In truth, she wishes they never had to part. "I told you I don't pray anymore," she replies, speaking something like the truth, and yet... Sometimes she can't help but to offer a whisper of thanks to the Gods for how far they've come. For all that they have now. "But it has been nice to see the weirwood trees," she continues, turning back to face the tree they stand beneath. It's the biggest and the oldest of the trees that grow, offering a sense of peace to those who come to stand beneath it's blood red leaves. "It almost feels like home." 

"Almost," he replies, coming to stand at her side, slipping an arm around her waist, a smile on his lips. "There... Now it does." 

Leaning into him, Sansa smiles, knowing that so long as she was with him, she was home. 


	72. a true smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jonsa drabblefest day 4, true.

She's soft when she looks at him from across the room, her smile that was once so weary and wane is now radiant and true. He finds that the sight of her smile is more than enough to bring one to his own face, more than enough to send shivers down his spine, more than enough to spread warmth throughout his limbs. He longs to see her smile and to hear the twinkling of her laugh, he longs to only make her happy. 

Unable to help himself, Jon slips through the crowd that's gathered in the great hall, sliding into place at her side. In the several weeks it's been since their reunion at Castle Black, they've grown closer than they ever had been as children and he's grown used to the touch of her hand against his, the sound of her voice when she whispers in the darkness of his rooms. He thinks of even just the night before, when she crept into his room in the dead of night, only to gently shake him awake as the tears began to fall. It was in his arms that she could find the calmness to sleep after a nightmare and so Jon willingly offered his bed and embrace, if that was what she needed. "I've been looking for you!" Her face lights up as she notices him there at her side. "I thought you'd gone to bed already." 

It is late into the night, a small gathering hosted by the lord's in honor of their newly chosen King in the North. Though he'd protested it, Sansa had insisted, and so a gathering they had. Even now, four hours or more since the feast, many still gather, drunk and warm in the halls of Winterfell. "Never without bidding you good night," he grins, the noticeable pink stain to her ivory cheeks telling him just how many glasses of wine she's consumed. He recalls a time where she would have snubbed her nose at the drink and wonders when she began to enjoy the taste. Her hand is warm where it now sits against his forearm, her fingers clutching ever so slightly as she leans in towards him. "Should I walk you to your rooms?" He asks, sliding his hand over hers as she shifts her gaze to meet his. It takes a moment but then she nods, slipping her arm through his, allowing him to steer her from the hall. 

The walk to her chamber door is not a long one and Jon finds himself to be disappointed when they approach. But when he thinks to pull his arm free from hers, she's holding on tight, blue eyes peering back at him in the flickering light of the hall. "You'll stay... Won't you?" She asks with the slightest tilt of her head, just enough so that her red hair falls across her shoulder, a waterfall of red curls. "Just until I fall asleep?" Jon smiles and nods, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingertips longing to trace the curve of her cheek. 

"Of course I'll stay," he murmurs and the smile that skirts across her face is wide and true, a smile he thought might never return to her face. A moment later she steps back and with the gentle touch of her hand, she leads him into her room, the door falling closed behind them. 


	73. Back to Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jonsa drabblefest, day 5, winterfell.

On their first night in Winterfell, Sansa finds herself standing upon the battlements.

It felt like a lifetime ago that she stood in this very same spot with Theon, prepared to leap from the height only so she might escape the place Jon had fought so hard to reclaim. Here, in these walls, she had grown from babe to child, leaving home under the guise that things out in the world were bigger and better than they ever could be in Winterfell. If only she could go back, if only she could tell herself differently. When she finally made her way back, Winterfell was a familiar place, yet full of strangers, full of faces she never would know. Faces that would turn from her bruises, from her frightened screams. 

"Sansa?" 

She nearly leaps from her skin at the sound of his voice, but she softens at the sight of his apologetic smile. "You're supposed to be resting." She had left him down in Robb's old rooms under strict orders to remain abed for at least a day, just so he might gather back his strength from the battle. He grins, but his shoulders lift in a shrug as he approaches where she stands, peering out into the darkness of the forest that looms just behind where Winterfell stands. The same line of sight in which she had just been staring. 

"Aye and I have rested," he replies, to which she rolls her eyes, but she can't help but to smile. "I could sleep no more... I was thinking about..." He doesn't have to say it, she already knows. Instead, she leans into him, so easily falling into her place at his side that it feels as if she's always been meant to stand there beside him. "I'm sorry I couldn't save him." Jon's voice breaks and she grasps at his hand, closing her eyes against the pain that is the truth. He's turning into her then and she opens her arms to him, wrapping him in her embrace, hoping it will offer him the comfort that her words cannot. 

They might stand there a minute or an entire lifetime, but finally Jon pulls himself from her arms so he might look her in the face, her blue eyes damp but clear. Above them, the moonlight peeks through the gray cloud cover, bathing them in it's soft, white light. "You did what you could," she says with a nod, laying no blame for Rickon's death upon him. How could she, after all that he had done? "You saved me." She speaks on, softer than before, her eyes shifting their gaze down to her feet. She hopes this is enough to calm him, to remind him that all is not lost, even without their lost little siblings. "You saved the North." She thinks of him, sword in hand, fighting for the only real home they've ever known. Fighting to keep her safe from a monster of a man, fighting for what always was theirs. 

To her surprise, he reaches for her then, drawing her into an embrace of his own, as if this is the only thing that can keep him going, as if this is what keeps him anchored to the ground. She gives into his touch, sinking against his chest as her arms loop his waist, breathing him in, thankful that she still yet has this, that he is still yet there to hold. She might stay here forever, if only the world would let her. 


	74. a queen in spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jonsa drabblefest, day 6 spring

When she wakes one morning, it is to the sound of a lark singing it's song somewhere in the distance. 

For a moment, she thinks herself to be still yet asleep, dreaming a dream of springtime sun and singing birds. But as she blinks into the waking world, she realizes it is as she hears, the bird's song is anything but a dream. Leaping from her bed, she dashes across the room to throw open the window, the morning sunlight spilling in through the curtains. "Spring," she whispers as she breathes in the air, newly scented with sunlight and warmth. Though the snow still blankets the ground, she can feel the sun on her skin and she knows that soon it will begin to melt away. 

From behind her, a knock comes to her chamber door and it's Shae that comes in, dark eyes shining as she takes in the sight of her queen's smile. It's been a long while since she's seen a smile such as the one she wears now. "My blue gown today, I think," Sansa says as she sweeps back towards her bed, gesturing towards the wardrobe where inside her newest gown resides. It was a gown made from the finest of damask, sent to her from King's Landing some weeks ago, a gift for her nameday from Bran, along with dozens of other bolts of fine fabrics fit only for a springtime queen. Though winter had felt relentless, Sansa had begun work on her spring gowns, ever hopeful that spring would indeed come again.

And finally, here it was. 

As Shae is tightening the laces upon her gown, another knock comes. "Come in," Sansa calls as she sinks onto a stool, so Shae might twist her hair into it's usual style of braids. Beside her, Shae sinks into a quick curtsy and Sansa is smiling as she swivels on the stool to face her husband, freshly dressed with his curls tied back at the back of his head. "You were early to rise," she says when he's leaned down to kiss her mouth, something that still yet fills her with warmth, a feeling she's certain won't ever leave her. 

"I wanted to bring you these," he pulls his hand from behind his back only to reveal the bundle of blue winter roses he's plucked from the gardens. "It seems spring has found us at last and I wanted to see you with these one last time." She takes the roses from his hands and inhales their sweet scent, smiling faintly as she raises her gaze back to him. "I will see you at breakfast, sweetheart." Jon leans in once again, his mouth finding hers for just one more quick, but warm kiss. As he opens the door, he turns back, offering her one last grin. "Your dress is quite becoming," he of course had noticed the tight fitting bodice, the quality fabric hugging her lithe frame in the most delicious of ways. Sometimes Jon can't help but to think she does this to him on purpose, but he enjoys it all the same. 

When he's gone, Sansa offers the roses to Shae, who already knows what she might do with them. 

A short while later, the great hall falls into silence as their queen steps into the room. Where he sits at the head table, Jon rises up, unable to draw his eyes from her as she seemingly glides towards him. The roses he'd only just given her were woven into her hair like a crown, their frosty color a striking contrast to the vivid red of her hair. He offers her his hand as she approaches, but before he helps her into her chair, he brings her hand to his lips, brushing them across her knuckles for all to see. 

She's smiling as she finds her chair, looking out into the sea of people in the hall, lords and courtiers alike, all whom look back to her with smiles of their own. She thinks of the missing faces and for a moment, there is pain, but it fades as Jon gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "Winter has gone," she speaks to the room, her gaze sweeping from face to face as her heart fills with warmth, with happiness. "And now spring has come." 


	75. peaceful sleep.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for jonsa drabblefest day 7, free day.

  
It's just before dawn when he's woken by the sound of footsteps at his bedside. 

Sansa stands there like a ghost in the night, pale faced and dressed in just her white nightgown, red hair falling wildly about her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she whispers into the darkness, but Jon smiles, shaking his head as he shifts aside, lifting the furs so she might slide into place at his side. It takes but a moment for her to find her spot, turning onto her side so she faces him, their faces inches apart on the pillows, tucked beneath the same layers of blankets. 

"Don't be," he murmurs, reaching out a hand to tenderly stroke her cheek, noting the dampness of her eyes, the dark rims beneath them. He wonders how long she paced in her room before she came to him. It hurts him to think about how she hurts, it hurts knowing how little there was for him to do for her. "I told you I would always protect you." He meant what he had said that day before the battle with Ramsay, where he had sworn to always protect her; no matter what it was she feared, he would keep her safe from it. Nightmares or reality, he would do what he could to calm her fears until his dying breath. Beneath the soft touch of his fingertips, she blushes, her rosy lips curving with a wane smile. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

It only takes a moment for her to shake her head. Closing her eyes, flashes of the nightmare come back to her; striking fists and angry eyes, blood splattering a stage, wild cries from a crowd. When she opens her eyes again, Jon is staring at her with his solemn, Stark colored eyes, eyes that once pained her to look into. Now, they bring her comfort, they bring her peace. "I just want to sleep." She hasn't slept in what felt like days, perhaps even weeks. Jon nods and he opens his arms to her, silent as she scoots as close as she dares, the feel of his arms around her the one thing in the world that can bring her comfort. A moment later, she feels the warm press of his lips against the top of her head, his grip on her body tightening as she buries her face into his chest. She doesn't care if they're siblings, she doesn't care if they share a father's blood... Jon is the one man she can trust, the only person who has yet to let her down. Who will never let her down. He's the one who's returned her faith in those around her, the one to remind her that all was not yet lost. Her hand finds his beneath the blankets and she closes her eyes, the only sound in the room that of their breathing. 

"Then sleep," he whispers, one hand reaching up to stroke her long red hair, it's something he's learned over their time together that helps to calm her, that helps ease her back into sleep. It doesn't take long before he feels her sinking into sleep, the hand that holds onto his loosening its grip, but never falling away. 

Even after the morning call comes, does Jon hold her while she sleeps, knowing there was not a single thing in the world that could bring him to disturb her now. And so even when the morning sun rises into the sky and sunlight spills in through his window does he hold her. This was where he was meant to be, always and forever. 


	76. the life of a king and queen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> written for the queen sansa / jonsa event.

He watches her grieve, his own heart hardened to the pain of loss.

Instead, he feels empty, lost, wishing there was a right answer to all that they suffered, for all that was still yet to come. He spares the dragon queen a single glance, her silver hair falling down her back as she leans over the body of her dead Mormont companion, knowing it would not be long before she summons him away from Sansa once again. A hand clenches to a fist, thinking of the many more men that must die, all so this false queen can lay claim to a throne that will never be hers.

His gaze returns to Sansa as she steps back from Theon's pyre, where he can see the glint of the direwolf pin she'd slid into his doublet. From the angle he stands at, he cannot see her face, but he can only assume it's contorted with her grief, her blue eyes swollen as the tears streak her cheeks. He wishes he could take it away, he wishes he could fix it, but he recalls the soft words she had spoken to him only the night before, when she had been stitching one of his many wounds closed; _he died to save Bran, he died a hero._ While Jon could never forgive Theon for what he had done while he was alive, saving Sansa and Bran had earned him forgiveness, even if it had to be in death. Jon closes his eyes and lets out the breath he's been holding.

When he opens his eyes, it's to take a torch from the man beside him, watching as Sansa and Daenerys and even Arya takes one of their own. Then, one by one, they lay flame to those they loved, those who fell in the battle for the living, those who died so they, the survivors, could keep going.

And keep going they would do, somehow, someway.

[ x x x ]

She stares at him with that intense, blue-eyed gaze, stealing the breath from his lungs with just a look. The firelight frames her in such a way that he cannot stand it and so, he crosses the room to slip his hands into place on her face, fingertips just barely brushing the ends of hair that have fallen free from her pins. "I made your queen angry," she whispers, thinking back to their war room conversation from that morning. Thinking back to the angry glares she'd been given all night long during the feast.

Jon thinks of Daenerys, having just left his rooms minutes before Sansa had arrived, her violet eyes dark with suspicion, narrowed with anger. "You're not the first," he murmurs back, his lips dangerously close; so close, he can feel it when they curve with her amusement. "You won't be the last." He thinks of what he must do, of what he must prevent when Daenerys lays claim to the Iron Throne. He knows not what she will do when they get there, he knows he cannot stop her from what she's already made up her mind to do. But he can stop her, somehow, someway, he will ensure she will never hurt his family.

"I'll come to you, when it's time," she's leaning into him, breathing him in; he smells of fire smoke and ale, comforting scents that make her close her eyes. She can't imagine him not coming home from this war and so she won't think like that, she won't think of the what if's. Not this time. Unlike the first time he rode into battle, she trusted him entirely. Jon chuckles at her words and she snaps back, blue eyes meeting Stark gray. "I mean it."

He thinks of her then, riding into King's Landing with an army at her back, a wild warrior queen come to save him as no one ever came to save her. "When you come, it will be so I might marry you," he brings his lips to hers, a steady kiss, a warm kiss. One he hopes says everything he's not been able to put to words. When they break apart, she's breathless, smiling, radiant. "I love you," he whispers and she sinks into him.

[ x x x ]

_"They don't get to choose."_

Daenerys' soft words echo in his mind, their meaning taking root, spreading a cold sense of dread through his limbs. It was as he thought- there was no changing the outcome of this war. There had been a part of him that had hoped, that had wondered if just maybe... Just maybe in the end things could be different. That he wouldn't have to do what he intends to do. But their eyes meet and he knows... He knows. When her lips capture his, his fingers already curl around the hilt of his blade. He knows what he must do. He always has.

She slips from his grasp, the blade still embedded into her chest, her violet eyes wide as they stare up at him from the floor. Her lips move, but no words come. It takes several seconds more for her eyes to close and her head fall to the side, her final breath escaping her in what sounds more like a sigh than anything else. 

When her soldiers come, she's already gone, taken by Drogon. He allows them to take him in chains, knowing it was only a matter of time before he would take his place as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, though in his case it will be six, for the North would belong to no one but her.

The North would be Sansa's, as it always should have been.

[ x x x ]

The day he is proclaimed the rightful king, he still sits in a jail cell.

It is Sansa that comes to him first, war braids twisted in her red hair, bringing a smile to his face at the sight. "I told you I would come," she says as she sinks to her knees, not in reverence, but to throw her arms around him. Jon chuckles, unable to hug her with the shackles around his wrists, but the warmth of her body pressed against his is enough. "Unchain him!" She commands a moment later, pulling back so she might turn back to the guards that hover in the door way.

The man is not one of theirs, but he springs to do her bidding anyways- from the fear in his eyes, Jon can only imagine what threats his precious she-wolf has issued. Once his limbs are free from their chains, Sansa helps him onto his feet and it's then that he embraces her, the momentum of it sweeping her off her feet. "I love you," he says, before all the eyes that watch them from the doorway, uncaring who hears him proclaim the truth of his heart. She smiles, tears shining in her eyes as she nods, leaning in so she might kiss him as she's wished to do all these weeks they've been apart. "You're safe," he thinks of all of their enemies- Cersei, Daenerys, the Night King, Littlefinger, Ramsay Bolton, Joffrey Baratheon... All dead, all nothing but a memory.

"We're safe," she clarifies, softly, her rosy lips curving with the smallest of smiles. "Our family is safe." It was all because of him that she stands where she stands now, it's because of him that she's alive at all. "All because of you." Jon shakes his head as if he means to argue, but she puts a hand to his lips, shaking her own head. "You're my hero." Like the knights from her fairy tales, Jon was the hero that came to save her, the hero she had been waiting for, the brave and gentle knight her father had once told her of.

This time when Jon pulls her into his embrace, he thinks he might never let her go.

[ x x x ]

Before Jon crowns himself king of anything, he stands watch as Sansa is crowned Queen in the North.

He is the first to unsheath his sword, held to the ceiling in reverence to the new Northern queen. His voice is the first to begin the chant in the hall as she sinks upon her throne, her crown of wolves perched perfectly atop her fiery hair. Her eyes find his from across the room and she smiles, a proud smile, a smile that speaks volumes to him. The journey to this moment had been a long one, a tiresome one, but now that they were there, Jon couldn't imagine himself anywhere else.

And so he steps forward, sinking to his knees before her on the throne; before anything else, he is a Northern man and this is his queen... This is the only woman he will ever again call queen, the only woman he will love for all of his life. "My queen," he says as he tilts his head back to look up at her from the floor, ignoring her gesture to rise up, a grin on his lips as he reaches for her hand to take. He presses it to his lips like a proper courtier might, rising up to his feet only then, hesitant to let go of the hand that he holds. "I give myself to you, heart and soul." She laughs, sweet and low, her blue eyes twinkling in the firelight that glows all around them. "I am yours to command." The room is full, but they are alone, lost in the moment, lost in one another's steady gaze.

"And I am yours," she smiles back, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, thinking of little else but the happiness she's found with him, wondering how she's deserving of the love he gives to her, but thankful for it all the same. When Jon smiles, it sends warmth throughout her body, the clutch of his fingers upon hers the only thing she ever wants to feel again.

He kisses her then and the Northern lords that watch know their young queen is happy and so they are, too.

[ x x x ]

It isn't until King's Landing is fully restored that Jon accepts his crown.

With Sansa and the rest of the world watching, he sits upon the new throne of the Six Kingdoms, made for him by Gendry as Sansa's had been. Like hers, it is carved with direwolves and weirwood trees, a perfect match for the throne she's left behind in the North. His crown feels heavy with burden, but when Sansa smiles upon him from where she stands in a beautiful gown of sage green, he's reminded of just why he's come this far. He's reminded of what's kept him going all this time, of the reason that he lives on.

And so the people of Westeros acknowledge their new king, half Targaryen, half Stark, but a man of honor, a man of truth. A good king, they will call him, Good King Jon, the White Wolf of Winterfell, the King that Saved Them All.

[ x x x ]

Several weeks after Jon's crowning, they finally marry.

Standing beneath the heart tree in the godswood of Winterfell, they exchange the quiet marriage vows of the old gods. Jon has never seen her more beautiful than she is right then, in a gown of dusky blue and white, the furs draped over her shoulders the perfect accent of gray and white. She is like a dream come to life, something too perfect to exist in a world such as this.

Later, when they retreat to the privacy of their shared chambers- ones that once belonged to only her- he laughs as she pulls the pins from her hair. "What is it?" She asks, swiveling on the stool, still dressed in her lovely gown, her eyes widening at the sound of his laughter. "What's funny?"

"I was only thinking how I once used to sneak into these rooms." He gestures towards the bed, one which they had shared in secret far too many times to count. Now it's her turn to laugh, rising up from the stool to cross the room to stand before him, her hair falling freely across her shoulders. When she's come close enough, he draws her into his arms, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, yet again reminded just how lucky of a man he was. "Davos says we should marry again, in King's Landing." He thinks back to what his Hand had said only the day before, a conversation of how they might continue to encourage the strength of Jon's relationship with his people. The world had been through war and had come out scarred, there were wounds not yet healed for some. It would take work to find the true peace Westeros had not seen in centuries. "He says they remember you, they like you." It was true, Jon himself had seen the reaction of the people in the streets when Sansa was seen during her many trips to King's Landing since the end of the war. "I told him to plan it." He knows it to be for the good of the realm, but mostly he looks forward to having another wedding night with her. "And after that... I intend to crown you beside me." Together, they would rule the Seven Kingdoms and hope that they could bring about peace among them all.

[ x x x ]

When the stories are written, they laugh.

They can't help it, hearing the things that the bards and storytellers and historians come up with, trying to find ways to define the life they had lived to get where they were now. _The Red Wolf of Winterfell, the Queen That Never Bent,_ Sansa says to him once, raising her still brilliantly colored eyes from the parchment she reads. _The White Wolf of the North, Good King Jon._ He had laughed at that, because despite it all, he still doesn't always feel so good.

But when his eyes meet hers, he knows what he has is good, no, what he has is the best. He thinks not just of her, but of the family they've built along the way... Robb, their first born, their heir, though his place will be in Winterfell. The next King Robb, named for the one that should have been. He is built like a Stark, somehow more like the uncle he's named for than anyone could have been prepared for. Sometimes the six-year-old's glare renders him speechless, sends him back to a time where he and Robb had once wrestled in the mud, back to a time when life had been different. Then of course there's Ned, who though quiet like his namesake, is easily persuaded to do wrong by his older brother. He too is more Stark, but he has a touch of Tully in his hair when the sunlight catches it. Some say he is quite like his uncle Bran and there isn't a day where the boy isn't happy in the broken man's lap. He will succeed Jon, if he wishes it, but something tells Jon that Ned will offer his crown to Lyanna, more suited to Hand of a King or Queen. That was who came third, their first daughter Lyanna, named for her grandmother and a spitfire like she was said to have been. She is Sansa's twin, a beauty of a girl even just at two, but she too is a child that Jon cannot deny. Her dark hair is never tidy, though it falls with the same gentle wave as Sansa's does. Lyanna is rambunctious and rowdy, often found tagging along behind her oldest brother. There's another one yet to come, though Sansa's day is to certainly come sooner than later, this one another girl Jon hopes. He hopes a redhead might still yet join their family.

Stepping into the rooms he's shared with Sansa for the last five years in King's Landing, he's stopped by the sight that even still, catches him off guard. She sits up, resting against the pillows, her swollen abdomen nearly hidden by the tangle of children that sleep against her. Robb has his head against her side, tucked into the warmth and safety of his mother's elbow. Lyanna sleeps curled up with her head on her mother's lap, one of Sansa's hands stroke the child's long hair, a faint smile on her lips. Ned sleeps at the foot of the bed, tucked against Ghost, who still yet sleeps beside Sansa as he had done all the years since their reunion. Though Ned sleeps away from the rest, his one hand is outstretched just enough that his little fingers curl into a fold of Sansa's gown. "Now this is a sight." Jon chuckles, carefully sinking down onto the tiny space beside her on the bed, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Robb's forehead. "I thought Robb was too big for such things?" Their oldest son had only just recently declared himself to be old enough for a steel sword and far too old for his mother's kisses- but finding him this way brought a warm feeling to Jon's chest. Their first born was indeed growing up, but it seemed not as quickly as the boy might have thought.

Sansa smiles, turning to look at him as he takes his spot beside her. It feels like it's been eons since this bed was theirs and yet... The warm weight of her children, the feeling of the one growing within her... It was all the things she had always wanted. She would never trade what they had now for anything. "He was the first to fall asleep," Sansa chuckles as she returns her hand to Lyanna, who quietly shifts in her sleep, a hand tucked beneath her cheek just as Sansa sleeps. "We'll have to wake them soon," she goes on to say, the second labor pain hitting her, this one forcing her to wince. "But not... Yet." She longs to savor this moment, this single one, where they are as they are, before things must change again. Where Lyanna is still her youngest, where Ned is only a big brother to one, where Robb is not nearly almost seven-years-old and no longer a baby in need of his mother.

Suddenly, Jon is squeezing her hand.

Looking up, a smile curves upon her lips and she knows, she understands. Their family is not changing, it's becoming complete.

[ x x x ]

Westeros sings it's joy the day the youngest princess is born.

She is born with the Tully red hair of her grandmother and mother, named Cat in honor of that grandmother she will never meet. Sansa cries as she holds her close, burying her face in her sweet smelling skin, knowing well that this was the last missing piece of her heart.

After so many years, her heart was complete once again, as if it had been that day before she left Winterfell. 


	77. a gift for you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more jon x sansa the night before the night king  
this is one of the best settings!! FIGHT ME !!! (but not really pls)

His queen is not soft and silver haired; his queen is fierce, his queen has steel cut eyes that will weaken even the toughest of men's resolves. His queen is not fair haired like the moonlight, but her hair is every shade of autumn, woven together in the most vivid burst of colors he's ever seen before. 

His queen is not the mother of dragons nor beasts, but she is lady to his Ghost, beloved by the white wolf in a way that he knows he will never compare to. His queen is not like a flame, red hot and angry, but his queen is sharp as ice, cold and resilient against even her mightiest of enemies.

And yet, to his queen he does not demure, does not bow and call_ your grace_, though he wishes it were so. Every time he must call this false queen his, his spine tingles with chills. Every time he must defer to this woman, this dragon queen, he feels sick to his stomach, wishing with all of his heart that he might never face her again. But soon... He reminds himself constantly, soon it would all be over. Soon he would take the final step to ensure the safety of both the woman he loves and the family they've pieced back together again. 

"Jon?" 

He stumbles as he walks, turning from his destination that is his rooms, just out of reach down the hall. It's Sansa that stands there, framed in the dying torchlight that leads the way down the darkened halls of Winterfell. The hour is late, so seeing her there is surprising, but certainly not disliked. In truth, the sight of her wane smile fills him with far more warmth than any fire could. "Sansa." Her name is familiar upon his lips and at the sound, her smile brightens, blue eyes gleaming as she takes the few steps it takes to reach him where he stands. "It's late," he observes, gesturing towards the torches that have nearly gone out, to which she grins, shrugging her shoulders in a gesture she's adopted since their reunion. He likes it.

"I was ensuring the gates remained opened until the last wagon came through," she replies, though her smile fades as she thinks of all those people who had not made it yet, who were too far too travel to Winterfell. Innocent lives that they could not protect, lives that most certainly would be lost along the way. Jon's hand is warm against her arm and she looks up, realizing only then that she's lapsed into silence, blue eyes trained on the ground beneath her feet. 

"You've done all you can," he assures her softly, knowing what weighs so heavily upon her heart this night when there is danger all around them. "The people of the North will never forget what you've done for them, Sansa." For the rest of her life and for generations after, they will sing her praises, the Lady of Winterfell that cared far more for the innocent lives of her people than her own. Someday, when they call her their queen, they will call her the Queen that Never Bent, the She-Wolf of Winterfell. He smiles at the thought.

"I just hope the others..." She trails off, shaking her head. She knows not everybody can be saved- she knows this better than anyone- but despite all her best efforts, she still feels as if she's letting some people down. "I hope the others are safe." 

Jon's smile is reassuring, the only thing that might give her even an ounce of comfort in a moment such as this one. Since his return from Dragonstone, they've had limited time together and she's happy to spend even a moment with him in the dark hallways of their home, of the home they took back from their enemies together. She thinks back to just that morning, when Jon had gathered her and the others, Arya and Bran, in the godswood to talk. She had not expected to hear him say that he was not her brother, but her cousin. She had not expected to feel so very glad at the news, despite knowing the pain it must have caused him. "Come in... Just a moment?" He's gesturing towards his chamber door and she nods at once, falling into step behind him just the short distance to his rooms. 

Inside is warm, a fire burning brightly in the hearth thanks to some maid Sansa surely knows the name of, but Jon does not. She sinks into a chair nearest the fire, hands outstretched towards it, warming her skin in the glowing light. Jon can't help but to watch her for a moment later, taking in the sight of her there, reminding himself that in a few hours, he might find himself lost to her forever. The battle with the Night King was surely not far from it's beginning- soon, everything would change. "I have something for you." Her voice suddenly breaks into his thoughts and he blinks, realizing only then that she's turned back to face him, blue eyes peering up at him from where she sits with that wide, penetrating stare of hers. 

"Oh?" He questions, taking a few steps closer to where she sits, though she rises up to her full height when he's before her. She nods, reaching up to tug a chain up over her head, something he's not noticed her wearing until that very moment. It is a long, silver chain, with the head of a direwolf pendant hanging from it, made from thin but quality iron, old but certainly not ancient. "Sansa...?" 

"It was father's," she speaks softly, blinking fast, emotion rising in her throat as Jon's gaze grows shocked. "I found it among his things when we first came back to Winterfell," she admits, thinking back to that day when she had stumbled upon her parents old belongings, shoved into a room in the back of Winterfell where they had been left to collect dust. "I imagine he wore it as a boy, he certainly never wore it when we were growing up." She thinks of her father as a man of Jon's age with the silver direwolf worn proudly around his neck and though it's been around her own neck since its discovery, she knows now that Jon needs it more than she. "I've been wearing it, but I... I want you to wear it." 

Jon opens his mouth to protest, but she's shaking her head, silencing him before he can even begin. "You're still a Stark." She whispers as she reaches her hands up, carefully placing the chain over Jon's head so the pendant can settle perfectly in place against his chest. "You'll always be Ned Stark's son, no matter what your blood says." He closes his eyes and she knows when he opens them, they will be full of tears, just as her own threaten to be. She swallows against the rising tide of emotion within her, reaching out to place her palm against the pendant, just close enough that she can feel the steady beating of his heart. "Besides, I only mean to loan it to you." She adopts a new sort of tone, one that dares him to argue with her. "When the battle is over, you must return it to me." She's smiling, but Jon can see the sadness that clings to her, the worry that fills her. "You must promise to return it to me." Jon never breaks a promise, that much she knows. 

Now he's smiling, a laugh tumbling from his lips as he reaches for her, drawing her into his warm embrace. With his face pressed into her sweet-smelling hair, he inhales, breathing her in, knowing very well that this could be the last moments they have together. Suddenly, holding her just doesn't feel like it's enough. "There's something else..." She's pulling away from him then, a new look upon her face, one he's certainly never seen before. Without waiting, without fear, she's kissing him; it's a meaningful kiss, a fierce kiss, one that speaks volumes to him. Jon kisses her back, one hand sliding into her red hair, the other snaking around to press against the small of her back. This moment, this stance, it felt right... It felt natural. As if this was where he was always meant to be. 

"Sansa..." He speaks her name only when they break apart, though the gap between them remains minimal. His hand slips from her hair just so he can trace his fingertips along the length of her jaw, her lips curving with a smile beneath his gaze. "Thank you." These are the only words he can think to say- he has so much to thank her for, after all. "I promise I will return this to you." He touches the pendant hanging around his neck and the cool feel of the metal against his skin reminds him of when she slips a hand into his. Her smile is radiant as the sun and she sinks into him, face pressing into the crook of his shoulder, her arms looping around his hips.

He would stay here forever, if only fate permitted. 


	78. by your side.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quick, soft piece.   
set within days of jon's crowning as KitN.

The pain she feels is deep.

It's an ache so fierce that sometimes she truly thinks she might die from it. Pain that steals the breath from her lungs, pain that twists her heart relentlessly. Even in sleep she cannot always escape it- nightmares plague her nights, reminders of the horrors and the sufferings she's been dealt since her days in King's Landing. And yet... In her dark, pitiful world, she's found a sense of hope. She's found a light to guide her way, she's found someone who for the first time since she left home so long ago, she trusts. Someone that she believes in. Someone who loves her, for her and for nothing else.

When she thinks about Jon, she's happy. He is everything she's wished to have all this time; he is her brave knight, her gentle knight, he is her saving grace. If it were not for him, she knows she would be dead, whether by her own hand or another's. It's thanks to his warm touch that she frees herself from the confines of her darkness, it's thanks to his soft words that she calms herself even after the worst of nightmares. Jon has saved her life, in more ways than he could ever really know.

_Knock, knock. _

The knock upon her chamber door interrupts her thoughts and she knows it's him before the door swings open. As if her thoughts have summoned him, Jon steps into her rooms at her gesture, Ghost darting into the room around him before the door falls closed. The great white wolf nearly knocks her from the chair she sits in so he can lick her face, his paws leaving muddy paw prints on her shoulders that she doesn't mind. Instead, she finds herself laughing as she strokes the wolf's shaggy fur, nuzzling her face close to his, well aware that there wasn't a single grown man in the world besides Jon that would dare come so close to the wolf. 

From where he stands, Jon can't help but to smile. He enjoys seeing her in moments such as these- with her arms around his wolf, a gleeful smile upon her ivory features. Once, Jon had not thought such a smile would ever again return to her face, but every now and again, it shines through. "I thought I might fetch you for supper," he says as Ghost finally pulls himself from her, though he doesn't stray far, choosing to instead lay down at the hearth, the rug placed on the floor covered with his lost white hairs. "But now it seems as if you must change your gown." He gestures towards the mud that Ghost has left behind on her gown and they both laugh, the sound of hers spreading warmth through his entire being. "Shall I fetch someone...?" 

At once, she's rising up to her feet, shaking her head. "No need," she crosses the room to where her wardrobe sits and from inside she fetches a fresh gown, a newer one she's only just finished, made from gray wool that Jon had provided her with upon their return to Winterfell. "My laces, if you would." Her heart is beating surprisingly fast- she supposes that this is wrong, but the relationship she and Jon have developed over their weeks together has changed, become something else entirely. She turns her back to him then, casting him a single glance over her shoulder, a look that threatens to utterly destroy him.

Somehow, someway, Jon reaches her and with shaking hands, he unlaces her gown, watching as it slips from her shoulders, revealing to him a glimpse of her creamy skin. And just like that, he catches sight of a scar, put there by perhaps a small blade- yet another reminder of all the pain she's suffered through before finding him at Castle Black. "Turn around," she commands quietly and Jon does, turning on the spot to rather face the hearth. Ghost stares back at him, quite knowingly he must admit, as if the wolf knows the truth that rests upon Jon's heart. 

Quickly, and hyper aware of the pace of her heart, Sansa steps from the dirtied gown and int the fresh one. "Alright..." She murmurs, again casting a glance over her shoulder as Jon turns back to face her. "Lace me up." Jon swallows but he nods, once again reaching out so he can this time tighten the laces of her clean gown, hoping she cannot tell just how much his hands are shaking. When he's finished, she turns back around to face him, her cheeks tinged pink, but her lips are smiling. "Thank you," she offers him a brighter smile, though the blush does not fade from her cheeks. Unable to find his voice, he nods, reaching up a hand to the back of his head, a nervous habit he would certainly never break. 

It's that moment that he realizes the gown is made from the same fabric which he had given to her some weeks before. "You look beautiful," he says the words before he can stop himself, realizing right then that he longs to see her in more gowns made from fabrics he's provided her with. He longs to see her in spring gowns and summer ones, too. Gowns in greens and blues and pinks. He longs to see her a summertime queen, with roses woven into her vibrant red hair. Her blush deepens at his compliment and she murmurs her thanks, glancing down at her feet as if she's become bashful before his stare. "They'll be uh... Waiting." He goes on, gesturing towards the door. In truth, until then, they'd both quite forgotten why she'd even changed her gown in the first place. 

Offering her his arm, Jon smile as she loops her through his, their bodies pressed together as if they were made to fit in such a way. Made for one another. Together, they make their way from her rooms, leaving Ghost behind to snooze before the fire and down to the great hall, where they are welcomed by their lords with thunderous applause, with cheering that Winterfell has not heard since the days of their father, Lord Eddard Stark. Some might even dare to whisper behind their hands that it was such a shame that they were half siblings, for they made quite the handsome couple. A red haired queen and a king with the Stark looks, settled next to each other they were every inch a powerful couple, they were a pair that most would say would be the most benevolent of rulers. 

When their supper is served, Jon pauses for only a moment; he raises his mug of ale into the air and calls for a toast, rising up to his full height, gesturing at the rest of the room to remain in their chairs. "To my sister Sansa, your Lady of Winterfell," king they might have crowned him, but Winterfell would always be hers. The lords cheer wildly for the young woman, who smiles despite the blush that stains her cheeks. "I would be lost without your guidance," he says as he turns to look down at her where she sits beside him, hoping she would know just how much she meant to him. Hoping she knows that he cares for her far more than he's ever cared for anyone in all of his life. 

From the way her eyes shine, she knows, she knows.

And so he smiles, settling back into his place at her side. 


	79. home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another fix it fic.

Her breath catches, eyes stinging in the acidic smoke that fills the air.

Footsteps distract her and she shifts, watching as the wild eyed dragon queen storms away from where she stands, unable to face the burning of the bodies. She swivels back to face front, watching as the flames consume those lost in the battle, those who died so the rest of them could be standing where they are now. Her hand aches, wounded by a blade the night before, but she tightens it into a fist all the same, the pain a reminder that she still yet lives. Pain... It is all she knows.

A touch to her arm is like electricity and she turns into it, facing him with a solemn gaze. "I must speak with you," he says, voice hoarse, those Stark colored eyes of his staring deep into hers, gaze so intense she can't bring herself to look away. At her feet, Ghost whines for a pat, but she cannot move, she's frozen there in his gaze. "Please... Sansa." His hand reaches for hers, unknowing, and she winces, pulling free from his grasp.

"There's nothing left to say." She whispers, shaking her head, though there's dozens of things she thinks she could say. 

She turns from him then, back to face the burning pyre that is Theon's, though she closes her eyes; like the dragon queen, she cannot face this either. It takes several moments for Jon to sigh and walk away from where she stands, though Ghost does not stray from where he sits at her feet. When he's left her side, she opens her eyes.

Perhaps it was not death that she could not face after all.

[ x x x ]

Snow is gently falling, covering the scars of the battlefield.

She's lost track of the time since she sat herself beneath the heart tree, but here is the only place she seems to find any solace. Any ounce of peace at all. Inside, the servants work tirelessly to prepare for the feast they've got planned- a celebration of life, of the win they've taken over the Night King. But, Sansa doesn't feel much like celebrating. Not when everything feels so very wrong.

And it isn't just the loss of Theon that plagues her. It's the nightmarish images that haunt her mind from down below in the crypts. It's the sound of flesh tearing from bone, it's the screams of the dying as the animated corpses of her long lost ancestors tore innocent women and children limb from limb before her very eyes. It's the knowledge that in the end, she was useless, that she could not protect anyone, that perhaps in the end she was not cut out for the title she wished so desperately was hers.

"Sansa?"

She looks up, so lost in thought she's not noticed Jon's approaching footsteps. It's him, too... It's Jon that hurts her, loves her, haunts her. "I've been looking everywhere for you." He sounds worried and for a single instant, she feels contrite. But then she remembers and she turns away once more, tucking her chin back into place against her knees, which she's drawn tightly against her chest.

He knows she's angry with him and Jon cannot blame her._ Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?_ Her words still yet haunt him, still yet remind him that even she thinks he's given up his title, his place as King in the North, all because he's fallen in love with the dragon queen. If only she knew. If only, if only. He knows he must be honest with her, she deserves the truth, and yet... He bows his head, shamed, thinking perhaps he does not deserve to speak to her when he has yet to be honest with her about anything at all.

"I thought I might find some time to myself before the feast," her voice breaks into his thoughts and Jon raises his gaze from his feet to where she sits just ahead, shrouded in shadow as the sun sets beyond the horizon. To his surprise, she raises her own head, blue eyes staring intently up at him before she unlatches her arms from around her knees so she might pat the spot beside her, an invitation for him to sit beside her. And that's when he notices the bandages wrapped around her palm, something he had not noticed earlier that day at the funeral.

"Your hand!" He nearly shouts, unable to control the tone of his voice as he sinks down in front of her instead, taking her hand into his own as gently as he can. "You... You were injured?" He raises his wide eyed gaze from her battered hand back to her feet, catching the red tint of her ivory cheeks just before the last of the sunlight dies overhead, casting them into the pale light of the moon instead. It illuminates her, weaving into her crimson hair, giving her an ethereal look he's never seen before. "I'm sorry," he whispers, still clinging to her hand, hyper aware that she's made no movement to pull away from him. "I should have... I didn't..." Guilt fills him up, threatening to spill over, guilt for far more than just this hand injury.

To his surprise, she smiles, and in the moonlight it softens her. "It's not your fault," she comments softly, her other hand sliding into place over his, fingers cold from the winter air. "How were you to know what would happen down there?" Though they've not talked about what she witnessed down in the crypts, Jon saw the faces of the survivors, heard the testimony from Tyrion and the others. It was not just those on the battlefield that saw truly horrific things. "I only wanted..." She stops herself, closing her eyes as if she's reliving whatever it was she saw that night. When she opens her eyes, Jon sees that tears have filled them. "I only wanted to protect them."

He cannot take it any longer.

And so he reaches for her then, tugging her into his embrace without a single word. She gives into his touch, sinking into his chest, face buried into the crook of his shoulder as she softly cries. They have not been this close since the day he returned- he's not held her in his arms or breathed in the scent of her. He's missed her, more than his words could ever say. "I'm sorry," is all he can whisper, a mantra against her sweet smelling hair, his arms tightening their grip upon her shaking frame. He cares not how long they must sit there like this, he would stay forever if that was what she wished.

But finally, after what might be a lifetime or perhaps only several moments, she pulls back, wiping at her eyes as she murmurs an apology of her own. "Don't apologize," he says, reaching out his hand to catch a final tear drop before it falls from her lashes. "I am the one who's sorry," he goes on again, shaking his head when she means to interrupt. "Aye, you're right, I didn't know what would happen down there, but I should have been more careful." He holds his hand into place against the curve of her cheek, staring into her eyes there in the darkness of the night. "You're everything to me, Sansa," he admits without hesitation, the confession falling from his lips before he can stop himself. Her eyes widen, cheeks stained with red as his words take root within her brain. "You are the most precious thing in my life, I should have been more wary about sending you or anyone else down there."

Her heart is beating so quickly inside of her chest that she thinks surely Jon must hear it. She swallows against the new wave of emotion rushing through her, a smile curving upon her lips as she holds to his gray eyed gaze. "Jon... I..." She doesn't know what to say to this heartfelt admission of his, though she's longed to hear him say such a thing to her.

"You don't have to say anything." He says softly, his hand sliding from it's place against her cheek; she feels cold without it there. "I just... I just wanted to tell you. I should have before." He knows, deep down, just truly how long he's harbored these feelings for her. For his so-called half sister. That reminds him... What he wanted to speak to her of. "Sansa, I..."

"There you are!"

A new voice interrupts them and at once, Jon springs up to his feet as Arya approaches them, a very knowing look on her bruised features. Whatever thoughts she has about discovering her two older siblings in such a way together, she keeps to herself, but rather comes to stand just before them. "The feast is to start, but I've been told it can't start without either of you." She says, gesturing back towards Winterfell, which looms in the darkness behind them. "And if I know Sansa, she has a new dress to put on." Arya's face cracks with a grin, a sight that brings a laugh from both Jon and Sansa's mouths, as the latter nods, for indeed she did have a new gown to wear. "So get on with it." Arya waves her hand in a gesture of goodbye, then turns, slinking back towards Winterfell without a backwards glance. Truth was, she wasn't all that surprised to find Jon and Sansa sitting so close; she wasn't stupid, she's seen the looks they share, even if they think no one else notices.

Turning back to Sansa, Jon reaches out a hand, a silent offer; she takes it, allowing him to pull her up onto her feet. Brushing snow from her skirts, she smiles for him, wishing that their time alone might never have to end. "I'll walk you to your rooms." Jon says, his hand still wrapped in hers. She nods and together they fall into step beside one another, only after Sansa has looped her arm through his.

As they walk up the path, back towards Winterfell, neither one of them notice the violet eyes that peer down at them from a window, watching until they disappear from sight inside the palace.

When they reach her door, Jon hesitates.

He finds he doesn't wish to leave her side, though it's only a matter of time before he sees her again. "I will... See you down there, I suppose." He says, hand to the back of his head, nervously running through his curls as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. And then he turns, as if he means to leave, knowing she has much to do to prepare herself for the feast down below.

"Jon..." She reaches for him, keeping him there a moment longer. "Earlier, you said you had to talk to me." She recalls his soft pleading from that morning, when she had been full of anger and remorse and guilt. "Tell me..."

To her surprise, he smiles before shaking his head. "It can wait." He decides, knowing for even just one night more, he wants things to remain as they are. She smiles and nods, before her hand slips away and so does she, disappearing behind her door with a little wave of her bandaged hand.

It takes him several moments, but finally, he walks away.

[ x x x ]

When she appears at the feast, Jon is mesmerized.

She is radiant in her gown of fish scales, the material shimmering blue and green as it catches the firelight. Every pair of eyes in the room is upon the Lady of Winterfell as she slips into the hall, blushing as the Northern lords send up a cheer on her behalf. Jon spares Daenerys a quick glance, who at his side, is also watching Sansa as she comes towards them at the head table; the dragon queen wears her true feelings upon her ivory features, but Sansa seems to not care, or perhaps not even notice her, as she glides right on by to take the chair at Jon's other side.

"Your gown," he comments, as everyone falls back into their previous conversations. "It's nice." Somehow, they've been here before and they both smile with the knowledge of it. "I like the scales." It's proof of the pride she has in her Tully heritage, a homage to the mother she loves and misses every single day of her life.

"Thank you," she murmurs, once again blushing, though somehow deeper than when the lords cheered her name. "I've been working on it since you left for Dragonstone." All her weeks alone, she worked on the gown, made from material left behind in one of her mother's old trunks. Upon her initial discovery of the fabric, she had been still yet too wounded to make something from it, but somehow, Jon's leaving all those weeks ago had prompted her to begin a gown.

Jon opens his mouth to speak, but the clinging of a glass overtakes his voice and they both turn to face the table of Northern lords, where Lord Royce has risen to his feet, prepared to speak on behalf of them all.

And so the feast could begin.

[ x x x ]

He is still yet drunk when he stumbles from his rooms, following his conversation with Daenerys. It is late, so late that the torches have nearly gone out in the corridors, but he presses on until he's at her door. Suddenly, the late hour doesn't matter, all that matters is that he sees her face.

When she opens her door, she's dressed for bed, but her fur robe is thrown over her shoulders, her cheeks pink from drinking, but she looks worried. Not that he can blame her- what can she expect from a knock so very late at night? But at the sight of him there, she's stepping back, allowing him the space so he might slip inside of her rooms. "I'm sorry, I..." He begins, shaking his head as he steps into the center of the room, the fire blazing in the hearth telling him she had no plans of retiring soon. "I had to see you." The words are simple, but they are the truth.

Sansa knows he's not in his right mind and it's not just from the alcohol he's consumed that night. No, she knows this look, though he's tried to hide it from her; he's been with Daenerys. And from the looks of him, it didn't go well. "Sit," she murmurs, drawing him towards the hearth, towards a chair that she had only just been occupying. Across the room, much to his joy, Ghost snoozes in her bed. "I'm glad you came." She admits, sinking down to his level, her blue gaze calming him as he meets her eyes. "I was too afraid to come to you."

Her words sink into his brain, which stops whirling almost at once, the meaning of what she's said dawning upon him. "You are the most precious person to me, too," she whispers, rosy lips curving with her smile, the truth falling from them easing the weight that's sat upon her heart for far too long. "I care not what anyone thinks, Jon, I... I...-"

She cannot finish, for he kisses her.

It's a fierce kiss, a kiss that he's been holding in for weeks, no, months. It's a kiss that fills her with warmth, with courage, a kiss that tells her so many things that his words could not. Though he hates to do so, he breaks it, drawing back just so he might slip his hands into place on either side of her face, staring intently into her blue eyes. "Sansa... About earlier, about what I wanted to say to you..." She gives a single nod and then the words begin to fall from his lips, weaving for her the same tale that Sam had spun for him the night before the battle with the Night King.

By the time he's finished, she's already sunk into place in his lap, her weight warm, comforting. "Then Jon... That means..." He shakes his head, for her already knows what she's about to say. As if she understands him, she smiles somewhat, leaning in so she can tip her forehead against his. "You'll always be a Stark to me," her voice is a thread, a whisper of smoke, but the words mean everything to him. "No matter who your father or mother was, you'll always just be Jon, always." He crushes her against him, breathing in her rose scented hair, knowing that not even the Gods themselves could pull him from her right then.

"I love you," he murmurs, his breath warm against the shell of her ear, his hand sliding into place against her chest just so he might feel her heart beat into his palm. "I have wanted to tell you for so long. I love you, I love you." She nuzzles in closer, the closeness of him everything she's ever wanted, ever needed.

Once, she had not believed in love. Once, she had thought there to be only monsters in men's clothing, no knights in shining armor. Once, she had not believed in anything at all. But Jon had changed that, Jon had proven her wrong. In him she had found love, had found what it felt like to be safe. Truly and utterly safe. For the first time since she had left Winterfell all those years ago, she felt loved. Protected. Wanted. "I love you, too," she whispers back, wondering just when she had gone from despising the touch of a man to wishing Jon might only touch her more. "Come to bed with me..." She goes on, softer still, her mouth finding his for another kiss, this one much softer, slower, but with just as much meaning.

Without waiting, he adjusts his hands upon her and rises up to his feet with her in his arms. She gives a squeak of surprise, but her arms loop his neck seconds later, securing her place in his grasp as he crosses the room towards her bed, which as they approach, Ghost relinquishes his place upon it, taking up the rug before the hearth instead. He deposits her into her bed and only once he's kicked off his shoes does he slide into place beside her. He turns onto his side and she slips into place, head on his chest, his arm around her as somewhere in the back of his drunken mind, he realizes just what they're doing.

He's longed for this moment for so long. To lay beside her in bed, not when she's crept into his from a nightmare, not when she needs him to hold her so she feels safe again. But so he might hold her so she knows just how loved she is, to tuck her into the space beside him and watch her sleep a peaceful sleep. This moment, more than anything, is all he's ever really wanted.

And so he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

[ x x x ]

In the morning, he wakes before the morning call with a pounding headache, silently cursing himself for the amount of drinking he'd done the night before. As he adjusts to the waking world, he realizes, with a jolt, that it is not his bed he resides in.

Sitting himself up, Jon looks to the side and sees the sweetest of sights; Sansa, with her red hair spread out against her pillow, sleeping peacefully. And so he realizes, it was not a dream he'd had that night, but entirely real. Reaching out, he tenderly strokes her hair, wondering how a man such as himself could find happiness like this. How after all he's done, he could find love in a woman such as her. Smiling to himself, Jon leans over her, just to press a soft kiss to her temple; she stirs, but does not wake, rather she shifts a bit closer to where he sits beside her, as if even in her sleep she needs to be near him. It pains him to do so, but he knows he must slip away, for it would be no time at all before one of her maids or Brienne appear to wake her and prepare her for the day at hand.

And so he slides free from the furs and stuffs his feet back into his discarded boots, sparing her a single glance before he's gone from her rooms. But for the rest of the day, he won't forget that feeling of waking up at her side.

It carries him through the long hours of war meetings, it carries him through every sharp glare from violet eyes. And every time blue eyes glance his way, he is warmed through, a secret smile never far from her lips when his eyes find hers, even from across the room.

She would always give him strength, no matter the fight that lay ahead.

[ x x x ]

He's gone to war again, but this time, it's not for a woman he loves.

In truth, Jon knew what he had to do when he got to King's Landing, he knew what he must do to keep Sansa and their family safe. And so he had gone, not knowing just what would happen when he got there.

But he should have known, he should have known that Daenerys would not stop until she had everything she wanted. Once again, he is the Northern fool, and innocent people must pay the price for it.

And when they're standing together in the crumbling ruins of the Red Keep, the Iron Throne just behind them, he's sick with what he's seen. Sick with what she's done to get to where she stands right then, right there. "Break the wheel with me," she's whispering, violet eyes pleading with his, her lips wobbling as she smiles for him.

When she kisses him, Jon plunges his dagger into her chest. As the light fades from her eyes, Jon knows he's done right by the realm, by his family. This was for them, this was for Sansa; he had once vowed to protect her and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. Even shed the blood of his own kin.

Her soldiers come not much later and though they take him in chains, he knows it was worth whatever price he must pay.

[ x x x ]

In the end, he is freed from his dungeon and trades his chains for a crown.

They call him the King that Saved Them All, the King of Wolves, the White Wolf of Winterfell. In the streets of King's Landing, they cheer for him, the man that saved them from the tyranny of another Targaryen rule. And they cheer for her- they cheer for the young woman they once thought they might call queen, but to another man. They sing her praises and blow her kisses, not that he blames them, for she is easy to love. It's at her recommendation that the town be rebuilt before the Red Keep and she is beloved for that. They will remember that for all of their lives. As will he.

In that moment, Jon finds himself occupying a room that was not demolished in the fall of the Red Keep. Though he plans to return North quite soon with Sansa so he might witness her coronation as Queen in the North, they have yet to leave, for she insists they stay until all of the plans on the rebuilding of the town are set into place. Just as she oversaw the preparations for the survival of Winterfell and the North against the Night King, she oversees the plans for the rebuild without fail, speaking her mind without fear. There was not a single person in King's Landing who did not speak against her.

The door opens and as if his thoughts have summoned her, she's coming into the room, her red hair twisted back in braids. She has traded in her thick, woolen Northern gowns for lighter, more airy Southern sort of ones, this particular one a soft shade of sage that reminds him of spring, of what was yet to come. "I have not seen you all day, sweetheart," he observes as she sinks into the chair nearest to him. "Hard at work running my own kingdoms, are you?"

At his words she laughs, but to his surprise she shakes her head. "I was with the injured," she admits after a moment, locking her eyes with his. "I only wanted to be certain they were being well taken care of." They had maester's from all over summoned to King's Landing to care for those who had been injured in the sacking of the city. Jon blinks and without a word, rises up from where he sits to kiss her, long and slow. "What was that for?" She giggles when he pulls back, though his face remains passive, eyes never once leaving hers.

"You are too good for this world," he says softly, cupping her face with his palm, which she leans into with a slight smile. "I am undeserving of you."

To this, she shakes her head, hand sliding into place over his. "You are too hard on yourself," she muses, lacing her fingers with his as it falls from its place on her cheek. He draws her hand close to his mouth, only so he can press a kiss against the small scar that's left from the wound she received in the crypts."Besides, I am only doing what's right." She thinks of those innocent lives lost, the ones that could not be saved, and she's reminded of those lost in the crypts during the battle against the Night King. She thinks back to long ago, to the riot she had been trapped in back during Joffrey's reign, back to when she had learned the truth of what it was like to live among the townsfolk. The truth of what starvation might do to a man. No matter what, she would never let such a thing happen to these people again, and she knows Jon won't either.

"They will miss you more than they will miss me when we go North again," Jon can't help but to chuckle, but truth is, he doesn't mind. At his words, she too laughs, but she doesn't get the chance to speak before there comes a knock on the door. "Come in," Jon calls, straightening up where he stands, though his hand remains entwined with hers. The door opens and it's Brienne there, come to surely fetch her lady for yet another meeting.

"Your graces," she bows, already quick to refer to her lady as queen, though she's yet to be crowned. "They're asking for you down in the main hall, something about a visitor." Brienne speaks to Sansa, who blinks, surprise taking root, but she nods before rising up to her feet.

As she moves to step away from him, Jon catches her again by the hand, drawing her in to kiss. "When you return, I thought we might discuss what else we will do when we return North." A smile spreads over her face and she nods, giving his hand a tight squeeze before she's gone, following after Brienne to see who has come to call.

When she's gone, Jon can't help but to smile and wonder, as he does at least once everyday, how he ever got to be so lucky.

[ x x x ]

The day after her coronation as Queen in the North, they marry in the godswood.

The following day, Arya sets sail for the edge of the maps, with Gendry Baratheon at her side. They watch from the docks of White Harbor, waving goodbye as her ship disappears in the distance. "She'll be fine," Jon says as he slips his arm around her, noticing the tears that streak her cheeks as she waves goodbye to her little sister. "And she'll be back before you know it." Sansa nods, knowing it was true, Arya would return to them someday. This was not like the last time that they separated, this time, she knew her sister was alive and well. She did not have to worry if she would ever see her again. But she can't help but to feel sorrow, knowing that despite it all, their little pack was driven apart once again. And though she was Queen in the North, she knows her place is at Jon's side, and soon they would return to King's Landing for yet another coronation- this time for the both of them, a double crowning for the new King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Though the North would remain independent, they were united in marriage. After all they had done to secure Winterfell as their own, they would have to leave it again. "You know... I was thinking..." Jon's voice breaks into her thoughts and she shifts towards him, her face dry from her tears. "Once we're crowned in King's Landing... I thought we might return North."

Her surprise is evident and the look upon her face brings a laugh from his lips. "I... I don't understand. Your place is in King's Landing." She says, blinking fast, turning entirely towards him now, his arm falling from its place around her waist. "The King of the Iron Throne always remains in King's Landing."

"Aye, but I'm not the King of the Iron Throne, am I?" He shrugs, the sight of her face sending a rush of joy through him. "There is no Iron Throne left for me to be king of. And truth is, Stark men don't fair well in the South, do they?" At that, she chokes on a sound torn between a laugh and a sob. "Of course, we'll have to go from time to time, once the thaw comes... But I thought we might make a new capitol, right here in Winterfell." She throws her arms around him then, telling him all he needed to know.

"Thank you," she whispers into his ear, knowing without a doubt, it was she that was undeserving of him. Still smiling, Jon takes her by the hand and leads her back towards their horses, which were stabled nearby. And then...

He takes her home.


	80. at your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> drunk writing  
just something quick cause i miss jonsa & work is consuming my life lol

In the darkness of his rooms, she can feel Jon's hand touching hers. "Are you afraid?" He whispers, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire that still yet burns in the hearth. For a moment- silence; but then comes the tugging of the furs as she rolls over to face him where he lays beside her. Blue eyes peer back at him and for a moment longer, there is still nothing but silence. But then... She smiles. It warms him to his very core and he can't help but to give her hand yet another tender squeeze. 

"No," she finally whispers, a quiet admission that strikes him. "I believe in you," she continues, soft as before, but with a slight chuckle. "I trust you to keep me safe. To keep our family safe." She thinks of Ayra, of Bran, the little siblings they had vowed to keep safe. She thinks of his promise in a cold, dark tent some months ago.... _I'll protect you, I promise._ No, she was not afraid, how could she be, with Jon at her side?

Her words strike something deep inside of him and for a single moment, Jon must close his eyes against the rising tide of emotion within him. When he opens them again, she still yet peers back at him, rosy lips curving with a warm smile. "Sansa, I...." The words are there on the tip of his tongue, words he's wanted to say to her all these months, words that have etched themselves upon his heart. 

"Shhh..." She puts a finger to his lips, stopping him before he can speak. She knows what he means to say, words she herself has wished to say aloud more than once. "Tell me when you return." She says instead, giving both of them something to keep them moving through what is to come. Choking on a laugh, Jon leans in to press a kiss against her forehead, her skin warm and soft beneath his touch. "When you return..." 

"When I return, we will live in peace." He finishes for her, thinking of the world that is to come. A world without Daenerys Targaryen, without Cersei Lannister. A world without Ramsay Bolton or even Joffrey Baratheon. A world just for them and for the family they had begun to piece back together again. "I swear it to you." A tear streaks her cheek and he catches the second one before it can fall. He leans in then, capturing her mouth with his own, relishing in the warmth of her, in the sweetness of how she tastes. In the morning he might have to leave to serve in yet another fight, this time for a woman he did not believe in... But soon enough, he would return to where he was right then- at her side. His place was at Sansa's side and in the end, he would find his way back to her. He would fight dragons and queens and anyone else that might stand in his way. 

Later, when she sleeps pressed against him, Jon can't help but to smile; this was certainly where he was always meant to be. 


	81. until morning light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a warm up piece.

She's sinking... Sinking deeper... Sinking beneath the warm touch of his hands in her hair, sinking beneath the whisper of his lips against her skin. "You're quiet," he murmurs against her ear, bringing the softest of laughs from her own rosy lips. "Tell me... What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" She draws back, blue eyes finding gray; Stark eyes that once left her breathless, but now bring her hope, bring her joy. "Sansa..." His hand outstretches, fingers ghosting along the length of her jaw, his expression almost somber despite the smile that curves upon her lips. 

She thinks back, back to every moment, every single moment that has led them to where they were right then: twisted beneath the sheets of his bed, tangled up with one another. Somehow, despite the agony in which her journey has brought, she's thankful for it. She's thankful to have been brought to him, no matter the cost to herself. "Everything," she admits a moment later, leaning into his touch, never wanting to feel him slip away. "I don't want you to leave," she goes on, solemn now, fearful now. "Going South... It's dangerous." It's Jon's turn to smile now, shaking his head as a soft chuckle escapes him. "I mean it, Jon!" Sansa quips, drawing back from him, blue eyes darkening. "I've been having... Nightmares." Dreams of dragon fire and terrified shrieks, of crossing shadows and falling ash. She speaks pointedly, hoping that he grasps her meaning. 

He does. He always does.

"I'll come back to you, you know." He says, hoping it's enough; it isn't. She pulls entirely from him then, turning away, curving into herself as he's seen so many times before. In the darkness of night, his only light is the slim moonbeam that slips in through the curtains, weaving into her red hair like pale ribbons, enticing him to reach for her. "Sansa, I know that you are afraid, but..." 

"But, what, Jon?" She explodes, twisting back around so she might face him again. "If you go down there... You might not... You might not...." She can't finish the statement, she can't bring herself to utter those words. Jon leans into her, forehead to forehead, a hand sliding into the soft length of her red hair. His touch is all she needs and she's pressing her cheek to his chest, the steady beating of his heart against her skin the only thing that can bring her any sort of comfort at all. 

"I'll return to you, I promise," he swears softly, wrapping her in his arms, knowing in a few short hours he would have to leave her side once again. But this time, he knew what he was walking into; he knew what he must do. "You believe me, don't you?" 

It takes a moment, but she's raising back up, blue eyes again meeting gray. "I'll always believe in you," she says, because it's true. Her faith in Jon was far larger than her fears ever could be. Sometimes, she just needed a reminder. When he kisses her, it's full everything he wants to say, but can't yet find the words. But this time, it's enough... It's always been enough. "Send for me, won't you? If you need me, I will come, I will muster a Northern army of my own." Jon chuckles, thinking of her then, war braids twisted into that red hair, blue eyes daring any man, queen, or monster to cross her. 

“Aye, I will,” he agrees, though deep down, he hopes it won’t come to that. He doesn’t wish for her to ride into battle, he only wishes for her to remain there in Winterfell, safe and waiting for his return. “My she-wolf,” he whispers, lips at her neck then, teeth sinking into her soft, ivory flesh, the little whimper she emits sending a shiver down his spine. Right then, all he wants to do is hold onto her a little while longer. And so he gently pushes her back against the pillows and wraps her in his arms. 

Until morning light, this is all he would think about, all he would dream about. 


	82. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa Spring Blossoms prompt, day 1.

It was early morning and he had woken from a dream of spring.

He'd been walking through the gardens of Winterfell abloom, the sun high in the clear blue sky. There, at the very center, had she stood, like a beacon calling out to him. A crown of wildflowers were woven like a crown on her head, petals falling down the light blue gown she wore. He loved that gown, even in the dream he knew that he did. _Sansa... _Her name had been on his lips, a familiar sound that offered him comfort even to his sleeping mind. She had smiled upon him in the dream, opening her arms to embrace him, her body warm and solid, a reminder of the waking world. He pulled a single blue rose free from its bush behind her, offering it to her, if only to watch her face light up with another smile.

The moment Jon woke, he dressed, pulling on the cloak she'd painstakingly made for him before the long winter, the pads of his fingers brushing the direwolves stamped into the worn leather. Down the corridors he went, out into the courtyard, but his feet took him another path rather than to the stables or towards the godswood. Instead, he walked along the outer gate and into what once had been the gardens he'd dreamed of. Every inch of it was covered in a sheet of ice and yet he still could not help but to marvel at the beauty of it. The winter roses had once bloomed there in these very gardens, but then the true cold came and even wiped those away. Jon found himself longing to see the blue roses, to inhale their sweet scent, and to tuck one or two into beautiful red hair.

Spring was coming though so he supposed it'd not be long he would have to wait. Everyday they came a little bit closer. The snow had begun to melt beneath the warm winter sun and no longer did the cold snatch the breath from a man's lungs. In truth it was becoming quite like it used to be, before the long winter had ever come.

He was reminded of his childhood winters, where he and his brothers would wrestle in the snow and laugh when Arya pelted them with snowballs. He remembered how it felt to throw an arm around Robb as they walked back to Winterfell, tired and out of breath, but happy just to be with him. It wasn't all that long ago that he thought he would never again be as happy as he was then. Jon missed Robb terribly some days… So much so that it hurt. He missed Rickon too, the little brother that he had failed. He could not help but to think of what it would be like if they were still alive, or at least if Robb's wife and child had lived beyond the wedding feast. Would the child look like a Stark? Or even a Tully? Robb always had favored his mother looks, after all. Or would it have looked like its mother, a beauty they said, though foreign. And little Rickon... He'd be growing into a man now. Jon would have smiled upon him when he found his first love and maybe even married her someday. Shaggydog would play in the courtyard with Ghost and perhaps even Nymeria would have someday rejoined them with pups along with her.

"Lost in thought, are you?"

Turning at the sound of a voice, Jon could not stop himself from smiling as his eyes fell upon her. She was bright-eyed in the morning sunlight, her red hair a stark contrast to her black cloak. "Thinking of our family." He admitted as she stepped closer, his own arms winding around her as she fell into place against him. For several long moments he held fast to her, breathing in her sweet scent, ever thankful that she was there for him to hold. "I miss them." She drew back then, a gloved hand reaching up to tenderly touch his cheek, her rosy lips torn between a frown and a smile. Of all people, she understood his pain.

"As do I," she spoke softly, her voice catching as she too thought of the brothers left behind, of the mother and father she no longer had. "But we still have each other." She reminded him with a nod, her hand sliding down to press against his heart, the beat of it strong against her palm. "We have Arya and Bran." It was his turn to nod, his own hand coming up to catch hers. "Come... Arya was already talking about a sparring match." She rolled her eyes, but her smile was easy-going, those same eyes twinkling. Jon chuckled, his hand in hers as they made their way back towards Winterfell, where sure enough Arya already stood with Needle in hand.

Sansa let his hand slip free from her own, watching as he strode confidently towards the girl he would always call _little sister. _She could not stop herself from smiling as she watched him pull her into a tight embrace, laughing at something she said. Across the way, Brienne stood beside Jaime, their shoulders brushing as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. For the first time in as long as she could remember, everything felt right. Everyone was happy, truly happy. Her family had been broken apart, nearly destroyed, but they had pulled the pieces back together and found happiness again. Soon, it would be spring and everything would be green and lush again, even the winter roses would bloom again soon. Jon had promised her the night before the battle with the Night King that he would bring them to her the day they bloomed again and she knew that day would come sooner than they all thought.

And for that, she was oh so happy.

[ x x x ]

When she woke a few days later, Sansa rolled onto her side and there on the table just across the way was a bouquet of beautiful blue roses. Her heart swelled and she rose up from the bed to stand before the table, gingerly brushing her fingertips across the delicate petals. Against the vase he'd put them in, a folded up parchment leaned, and she raised it up so she could read the words he'd written across it.

_Spring is here._

A smile touched her lips and she turned to the other wall, where her newest gown hung from a peg. Jon had brought her the bolt of fabric from King's Landing just weeks before, a beautiful pale blue silk she'd insisted was too much for her. But he'd grinned and said nothing was too much for her, for his queen. _Queen... _still yet the word tasted funny on her tongue. As a child, she'd dreamed of nothing but a crown of her own and now that it was hers it almost sounded wrong. Even so, she'd done as Jon had bid and made herself a new gown with the fabric, promising only to wear it when spring came again. As he'd promised to bring her the beautiful roses, she promised a gown, and so she dressed herself in the blue silk and braided her hair and pinned it into place as she did every morning.

Making her way down to the main hall, she found him already there, as if waiting for her. He could barely catch his breath as he caught sight of her in the blue silk gown, her dark cloak draped over her arm and a radiant smile upon her face. "You're like a dream." He said as he approached her, his compliment sending a rush of heat to her cheeks. "Like a dream of spring." This time she laughed and swatted at him playfully. "You're missing something though," he admitted, drawing back to inspect her closely, his dark eyes finding hers as she frowned. From his cloak pocket, he pulled a single winter bloom and reached for her then, carefully tucking the rose into her hair, the color vibrant against the red. "There." He grinned before he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. "Now... You're perfect."

Sansa smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but the door behind them opened and in came the first of the servants to bring in their morning meal. Soon, all of the others would begin to join them too. They only had a few more mornings together like this before things began to change, before Jon would be crowned King of the Iron Throne and she his queen. They would go to King's Landing for a time, but he promised they'd return to Winterfell as often as she pleased. No King before had lived anywhere but King's Landing, but this would be a new reign quite unlike any King before him.

Taking their seats at the head table, Sansa smiled as Arya came into the room, her dark-eyed little sister taking her place beside Jon. Bran came next, his spot on her other side. They were the last surviving Starks, the last three true born children of Eddard and Catelyn Stark and the one time bastard of Winterfell. Touching the flower Jon had tucked into her hair, she could not help but to smile. Their dream of spring had finally come true.


	83. Godswood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa Spring Blossoms 2019, day 2.

She found him in the godswood, as she knew she would.

He sat alone, his dark cloak dusted with snow. For a moment, she stood on the outskirts looking in, wondering if it were right of her to disturb him. But then, almost as if he sensed her presence there, Jon looked up and their eyes met. And so she walked the short distance across the snowy landscape, dropping down onto the ground beside him without a word. For what could have been hours or days, they did not speak, but Sansa felt the touch of his hand to the top of her head, and she leaned in, pressing her cheek to his knee. His hand did not stray from her hair, in fact she could feel his fingertips as they absently sifted through her long red locks, worn loose from their usual braids.

Sansa wished that she could find the words to say to him- she couldn't imagine feeling what he felt, after all. She knew how desperately Jon had wanted to be a Stark, to be more than the bastard of Winterfell. And now, he wasn't even that. But more than that... Jon was far from a bastard, more than any trueborn son. He was a prince, he was the heir to the Iron Throne. His father would have been King, had he lived. Jon's mother was her own aunt Lyanna, and so gone were their sibling ties. Though they may have shared the same blood, it was not of a father, but of a cousin. And she knew well this would not be what he wanted from life. He'd hardly wanted to be called King in the North, let alone King of the Iron Throne. She felt for him, she truly did. To live your whole life as one person only to be told you aren't who you thought you were? _No, _she reminded herself with the smallest of smiles, _he's still just Jon. _It didn't matter who his father had been or not been- he was still a Stark. She loved him for who he was, not who he was told he was.

"They say she loved to ride."

Jon's voice broke into her thoughts and Sansa tipped her head back to look up at him. Brown eyes met blue and Sansa's heart skipped a beat when he smiled. "My mother. They said she loved to ride horses," he repeated, looking off towards Winterfell. "That she was the best there was, even among the men."

"Father said she had a touch of wild in her... And that Arya is just like her, even in looks." Sansa smiled too, thinking of her headstrong little sister. "You must look like her, you know." Jon looked back at her then, his dark eyes widening slightly. "You and her both look the part of a Stark more than the rest of us." This was true. Both he and Arya shared similar features, from their dark hair, small dark eyes, and long, oval faces. He sighed then, drawing his hand from her hair and leaning forward on his knees, staring out across the woods. Sansa wondered how she'd missed it all these years, looking up into her aunt Lyanna's stone statue down in the crypts. Though, he did indeed look to be a true born son of Ned Stark, so like him in appearance and manner, it was easy to accept him as his bastard. "It doesn't change anything." She suddenly spoke up, breaking the silence that had descended. He looked down at her, brow arched. "You're still Jon, you're still a Stark. I don't care who your father truly was. I don't care if he was a Targaryen or a Tully or a Lannister. You're always going to be Jon to me. Winterfell will always be your home." She watched as his features changed, surprise and then relief, which even that then faded away to be replaced with his easy going smile.

And then he was on his feet, offering her a hand to help her up. Taking his hand, they both felt the electric shock as skin met skin, the tingles sending chills down her spine. Sansa blinked and Jon never looked away, though he parted his lips as if he meant to speak. The moment she was up, he was pulling her close, winding his arms around her like he'd never done before. She yielded to his embrace there beneath the heart tree, her own arms snaking around his waist as he drew her in as close as possible. His grip was warm and strong as he pressed his face into her neck, holding to her as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. For several long moments they merely held onto one another until he finally drew back, eyes wet but his lips curved with a smile. "Thank you, Sansa," he murmured softly, one hand reaching out to stroke the petal soft skin of her cheek. He could not put to words how thankful he was for her, for how happy he was whenever she was near. She was blushing beneath his touch, her typically pale cheeks full of warmth and color, her blue eyes shining in the dying winter light. Soon it would be night and Jon knew they should return.

So he took her by the hand and together they walked back through the godswood, back towards home. It was as she had said... Winterfell would always be his home... But Jon knew, anywhere she was, that was home.


	84. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa Spring Blossoms 2019, day 3.

The closer the gates of Castle Black came, the more nervous she became.

She could not help but to feel uneasy; it had been years since she'd last saw Jon, would he even know who she was? Would he even care to see her? They had not been exactly... close... as children. In truth, when Sansa thought about it, she had been downright mean to him most of the time. There was a part of her that wouldn't blame him if he turned her away at the gate, for she probably would have as well. And yet... She shuddered to think what she would do if he did such a thing. Certainly she now had Lady Brienne to protect her... But in a world with Ramsay Bolton as Warden of the North and Cersei Lannister as Queen of the Iron Throne, she would never again be safe.

"Open the gates!"

The cry from the guard went out and Sansa kicked her horse back into movement, following close behind Brienne, her heart pounding. Slowing to a stop, she slid from her horse and cast her gaze around, her knees shaking beneath her gown. She was tired and bruised, near frozen from her days in the tundra, though Brienne had done her best to ensure she got warm again. Though part of her suspected she'd never be warm again. Revolving on the spot, Sansa's eyes fell upon him then, standing up on the stairwell that must have led into Castle Black's main hall. He was staring back at her, his expression that of disbelief. Sansa watched as Jon stepped back from the railing he'd been holding onto, his footsteps leading him down the stairs and out into the courtyard to stand before her.

He could not believe she was there.

Of all the people to come through his gates, Sansa had been the last one he expected to see. But there she stood all the same, looking pale and thin, bruised and shaking in her dark gray cloak. For a moment he would not have believed such a girl was Sansa, for this was not the sister he remembered so well from childhood. But it was her Tully red hair and her piercing blue eyes that would always give her away. Jon came down the stairs, his steps directing him out into the open courtyard to stand before her, no words coming to his lips. She looked close to tears then, her breath catching in her throat a moment before she was lunging forward.

Jon caught her with ease, the weight of her body offering him a sense of comfort he'd not had in the days since his resurrection. He felt her face bury into his neck and Jon closed his eyes, his own breath caught in his lungs. He wanted to say something, anything, but found there were no words to say. He merely held onto her, knowing somehow, this was the reason he'd been brought back to life. Days ago, he'd thought there was nothing left to live for. His family was dead and his comrades betrayed him... And then he'd died in the snow of this very courtyard.

And yet, life was breathed back into his body and he could not come to a reason why. But now, Jon knew, that reason was in his arms. A moment later, he set her back onto her feet, steadying her as she stumbled. Jon could see it on her face that she was exhausted, near frozen almost, and probably starving. "Come on..." He murmured, offering her his arm then, smiling when she looked up at him with surprised features. But then she smiled too, a smile that didn't light up her face like it had once done, and he found himself longing to see the radiant smile she'd once put on display for all to see. She had been an easy going child who had smiled at the smallest of praises, always blushing to the roots of her lovely red hair. Jon missed that smile, he missed that Sansa. And he had to wonder just what had stolen it from her.

Sansa took the arm offered to her then, allowing him to lead her back towards the stairs he'd just come from. She stumbled once and it was then that Jon's arm instead slung around her waist, keeping her upright as they made their way up the stairs and into a darkened hall. "Light the fire," he said to a bearded man, an older man who looked at her with kind eyes and a smile, before he moved to do as Jon had commanded. "Let's get you warm." Jon put both of his hands upon her shoulders, looking into her Tully blue eyes, reaching out a hand when a tear began to slip free. His thumb caught it before it could fall and he pulled her back into another embrace, unable to help himself. He'd thought he'd lost them all... And yet, here she was. He could feel her shaking as she began to cry, noisy tears that shook her entire frame, tears that spoke to her broken heart. Jon held her long after the tears subsided, his own eyes closed against the tears threatening to fall from them.

Finally she raised her face from his shoulder, tear-stained and red, and Jon put a hand against her cheek. "I've missed you," she said softly, her cheeks full of color, her eyes bright against the pallor of her skin. "More than I can say." Jon bit his lower lip, nodding, knowing he felt the same. He had thought of her as often as he'd thought of the rest of them, especially in the years since Robb and their father's deaths. His hand slid from her cheek and he ushered her towards the now burning fire, pushing her gently into a chair before it, speaking of calling for both a bath and food for her. Sansa could not help but to smile, watching as Jon took command of the moment, calling for all the things he thought she might have needed. In truth, all she needed was him, but it was nice to know he cared.

It was hard to believe just a short time ago, she had worried about seeing Jon again, concerned he might turn her away. But as she watched him turn back to face her, their eyes met and suddenly she realized... Jon would never do that to her. She blinked, sitting up a little straighter, realizing how wrong she had been. Sansa knew now she would never have to worry about Jon turning his back on her. She could not help but to smile a little and she settled back, draped in his own furs now, finally growing warm once again. If even for just a moment... She felt safe.


	85. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa Spring Blossoms 2019, day 4.

"Robb, come back here this instant!"

Her cry fell on deaf ears though and Sansa could do nothing as she watched her oldest son race out the doors of Winterfell, his little brother on his heels, crying for him to wait for him. A sigh escaped her but she could not help but to smile, striding towards the window that overlooked the courtyard where they ran out into. Both of her boys stood among the young boys of the North, some who lived there was wards of the King and Queen, others just visiting while their fathers were here for a council meeting. Some even were the local boys from surrounding towns, there so they may have a better life than those of their own father's.

"Are they misbehaving again?"

Sansa turned at the sound of a voice, her lips curving with a smile. "Just yours," she replied, causing Jon to laugh as he came to stand beside her. It was true, their oldest son was Jon's perfect copy, every inch a Stark, not even a trace of his mother in him. Robb was four-years-old now and a handful, quite like his namesake, the uncle he would never know. Their younger son, Ned, named for his grandfather, was a bit more timid than his older brother but was easily convinced to misbehave. "He told me he was ready to swing an iron sword." She sighed, shaking her head as Jon slipped one arm around her waist, the other coming around to press against her curved abdomen. "And then Ned said he was as well." Jon laughed again and Sansa couldn't help but to as well, leaning in against him as they looked out at their children among the others, Jaime Lannister there at the head of the group.

It had been some years since Jaime had come to Winterfell, to pledge himself to her and to House Stark. He remained as loyal as he'd been back then, head of the Queen's guard and a shining knight to the starry-eyed boys of Winterfell that had grown up on stories of his battle prowess and strength. Brienne often joined him on days like these, teaching the young boys (and girls, if they wished it) the art of wielding a sword so they too could protect the North and the Seven Kingdoms if ever called upon. Sansa hoped they would never have to, after all they'd lived in peace all these years since... But she was not ignorant. She had grown up in a time of war after all and knew how easy peace could be shattered. However, she would always hope for peace. She couldn't imagine sending her precious sons off to war someday. Instinctively, her hands came to settle over Jon's still yet on her stomach, the child within her turning almost as if they knew their touch.

"Come sweetheart, you should be resting, not chasing the boys." Jon kept his arm around her but gently steered her away from the window, instead walking her down the corridors back towards their chambers. It was true, having birthed two children already, Sansa knew her time for this one was close. In fact she'd already felt the first pang of labor pain early that morning, though it had been one and done. Once within their rooms, Sansa allowed Jon to gently push her onto their bed, unable to help but to smile as he fawned over her. He always got like this at the end of her pregnancy and she found it to be quite endearing. When he was certain she was settled comfortably, he climbed into bed beside her, putting his head against her great belly, idly trailing his fingers across it; this had become a routine of theirs, back when she had first told him she was pregnant with Robb. Every night he would spend in her bed, he would put his ear to her stomach and just lay there, sometimes he would speak to the baby within her, other times he would just sleep there.

In that moment, she was suddenly thrust back into the past, back to a time when she'd bled the first time. She had been a prisoner in King's Landing back then and Cersei Lannister had told her of birthing and how her betrothed, Joffrey, would never show her devotion in child birth or pregnancy. Sansa had grown up thinking no man would ever care for her in the way Jon cared for her... She had grown up thinking no man would marry her for love but rather for her title alone. In truth, she'd grown up thinking she would never be happy or safe again. Jon had proven her wrong, time and time again. And for that, she was so thankful.

They had come so far since their reunion that snowy day back at Castle Black; that had been what, nearly five years ago now? So much had happened and so much had changed. The fight against the Night King had been won, but the fight for the Iron Throne had come next. In the end, two queens lay dead, and no one had known what to do next. Though it should have been Jon to sit upon the Iron Throne, it passed to Gendry, the last living Baratheon. Bastard or not, it was his to take, for Jon would not have it. After his crowning, Gendry did something no one had expected- he broke the North from his kingdom and crowned Jon once again as King in the North. From then on, he would rule his six kingdoms, and the North would remain in control of the Starks as it had been for thousands of years.

Not long after Jon's crowning, they had married; it had been a small ceremony in the godswood, without the pomp one usually associated with a royal wedding. And then, as they all knew, she was crowned a queen in her own right beside him, the first King and Queen in the North. She smiled, remembering back to those early days of marriage as winter came to an end and spring began again.

Suddenly, a twist in her belly had her sitting up, Jon raising his head to look up at her in concern. But she only smiled and reached out to touch his cheek, ever thankful to the man for restoring her faith back into a dark and cruel world. "They're coming," Sansa finally said softly, gesturing down at her belly as she felt another wave of pain, this one a bit stronger than the last. Jon was up then, rushing from the bed to the door, stumbling out of it in his haste to find someone. She could not help but to laugh at his expense before she settled back against her pillows, knowing the day might be long. But at the end, her family would become complete.

[ x x x ]

Their daughter came quick and easy, quite unlike the brothers that came before her. They named her Lyanna for the mother and aunt she and Jon had never known. She was a sweet little thing, with a tuft of auburn hair and blue eyes, every inch her mother's child. "She's perfect," Jon whispered for perhaps the hundredth time as he lay beside her in bed, the boys squished between them, peering over her shoulder at their sleeping daughter. He could not stop himself from occassionally stroking her petal soft cheek, marveling at how precious she was. He loved his boys, of course, but there was something much different about having a daughter. "Truly." Jon raised his face from his daughter for just a moment, to look at his wife beside him. He knew their daughter would grow into a beauty much like her and he would have to watch over her, to ensure she grew up happy and healthy. He would ensure that for all of their precious children. "I love you," he leaned in, capturing her mouth with his for just a moment, a kiss that he hoped told her everything that his words could not.

When Jon pulled back, he knew that it had for her eyes had filled with tears and she was smiling happily, then offering him the little bundle to take. Jon took the baby without a word, carefully maneuvering her until she lay perfectly against the crook of his elbow. It was Sansa's turn to peer down at her daughter, taking in the sight of her tiny rosebud mouth, of her soft reddish hair, knowing this was her and Jon's own creation. Her hand reached out to touch the heads of her two sleeping boys, their curls soft beneath her fingertips, and her heart was so very full that she thought it might burst. How was it that only a few years before she had thought she'd never be happy again? And now she was here. She had once thought she had nothing left to live for, she had almost given up. And now she had everything to live for.

Her family had once been broken apart and torn to pieces; but she'd collected those pieces back together with Jon, Arya, and Bran... And now these three precious little lives that Jon had helped to give her. Sansa smiled and leaned down to brush a soft kiss to her baby's temple, knowing she would never be happier than she was right then.


	86. Rain, Sunshine, and Storms.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa Spring Blossoms 2019, day 5.

When she woke from her nightmare, it was to the crash of thunder.

Sitting up, the blankets clutched to her chest, she stared out into the darkness of the room before it lit up with a flash of lightning. Her heart was racing, anxiety rushing through her in waves, prickling her exposed skin. Rising up from the bed, she tiptoed across the room to stand at the window, peering out into the night. Rain lashed against the glass, making it hard to see, though she knew it was hours before the morning call. A chill settled into the pit of her stomach, wrapping her arms around herself as she did her best to calm her nerves.

The dream had been awful, as they always were. This one had been of Ramsay- with his wild eyes and violent hands. She shuddered, thinking back to the way it had felt to have him knock her to the ground, to how it felt when he threw her onto his bed... Tears filled her eyes and she willed them away, lids falling closed as she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, wishing with all of her might that she were stronger.

"Sansa?"

She jumped at the sound of the voice, the thunder following seconds later. Turning, she found herself facing Jon, who she'd left sleeping in bed. "I'm sorry, I woke you..." She apologized softly, turning back to face the window so he'd not catch sight of her face. The last thing she wanted to do was worry him over a stupid nightmare, not when he had so many other things to think about. But she should have known better, for it was only a moment later that she felt his hand on her arm, gently turning her back around to face him. Their eyes met as the lightning flared and his expression softened as he took in the sight of her broken features, her blue eyes misty. A moment later he pulled her into his arms, his skin warm against her own as she began to cry.

The tears just would not stop, no matter how hard she tried. Much like the storm that raged outside their door, the storm raged within her. Despite the time that had passed since Ramsay had even last drew a breath... Sometimes the pain of it all hit her without warning. Sometimes the ghosts she'd thought she'd left behind caught back up.

He held fast to her; Jon knew it was not so often that she woke like this anymore, which told him it had been a truly awful nightmare. He had always known of her night terrors back when they'd first found one another again, but as time had gone on she'd slowly regained control. She'd finally begun to heal from all that had happened to her. But like all demons did, they sometimes came back to haunt you. Jon knew that better than anyone. Did he not still drea of the boy he'd hanged earlier that year? Did he not still think of the innocent slaughtered in the war for the Iron Throne? Did he still not yet have dreams of white walkers and the Night King? What she had suffered had been so much more than any of that... It still yet angered him, thinking of all she'd been through. In truth, Jon was certain he'd never rage when thinking of her back then, used and abused by everyone around her. The fact that she had overcome any of the things she had suffered was a true testament to the strength she held within. And that was just one of the many things he loved about her.

When it finally felt as if she could cry no more, Sansa raised her head from Jon's shoulder and sniffled, softly apologizing once again. That was when Jon cupped her beautiful, but tear-stained face between his palms and smiled. "Don't apologize, sweetheart." He murmured, dipping his forehead down to meet hers, his lips brushing hers in a soft, but tender way. "Come back to bed." He encouraged then, taking her by the hand to lead her back to their shared bed, their marriage bed. It was new to them still, less than a month in fact, and sometimes it still yet felt strange to say. As he drew her back beneath the blankets, he rolled onto his side so he could still yet hold onto her, as always marveled by how perfectly she seemed to fit against him. "In the morning the sun will shine again, you will see." He whispered against the shell of her ear, reminding her that this storm too would pass, as they always did. She smiled as she settled against him, knowing he was right.

[ x x x ]

When she woke that next morning, it was to the sunshine pouring in through the open window. Jon had woke and gone for the day already, leaving her to sleep a little while longer in the bed they shared. She could not help but to smile as she rose from the bed, pulling on her dressing gown as she returned to stand at the window, looking out into the sunny courtyard.

And there he stood, already in deep conversation with a few of the Northern lords who had come to call upon them this day. Sansa smiled as she watched him gesture towards the stables and then nod, perhaps talking about the number of horses they'd been sent by Lyanna Mormont, the first lady to have called for Jon's crowning as King of the Iron Throne. As she had stood behind him as King in the North, she stood behind him now. The two men bowed then, turning from Jon to return into Winterfell's walls, where they would gather with the others who would begin arriving throughout the next hour. Sansa knew she had to dress and ready herself for the council meeting, knowing there was much to prepare before they departed for King's Landing next month.

It was then that Jon turned up to look at her, perhaps sensing her eyes upon him. His face broke out in a grin, his hand raised in a greeting. She returned his smile and wondered for just a moment how she'd become so lucky in life. There had once been a time where she thought she'd never be happy again, that she would never feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. But, it was as Jon had said... The sun would always shine again.


	87. Leisure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa Spring Blossoms 2019, day 6.

He could not remember a time when there was not a fight to be fought, nor work of some kind to be done. He could not recall a time where he'd slept so soundly all night, well past the morning call. But such a day had come and Jon could hardly believe it when he finally woke for the day, winter sunlight streaming in through the slightly parted curtains. Blinking against the bright rays, he propped himself up onto an elbow, gazing out at the chamber, remembering only then he was not in his own.

Sitting up, he looked to his right, smiling as he took in the sight of the sleeping form beside him. He could not stop himself from reaching out, trailing his fingertips along the soft skin of her arm. Beneath his touch she shifted, rosy lips parting with the softest groan as she came back to the waking world. As her blue eyes opened, they fell onto his face and those same lips curved with a smile. "You're still here," she observed as she sat up, clutching the furs close to her chest, reminding Jon that she was bare beneath the blankets. "I thought you might go before..." She was cut off as Jon's mouth captured hers, one hand sliding into her messy red hair, the other snaking around to press into the small of her back. Her skin was warm against his palm, reminding him of the night before and how warm every inch of her had been.

"Of course I am," he replied when he pulled back just enough to brush his mouth across her jawline, the hand at her back wandering further up, tracing the slight curve of her spine as she arched her back against his touch. "Where else would I have gone?" Her hair was sweet smelling as he buried his face into it, the long red strands slipping through his fingers like silk. Jon knew what she meant of course, that he'd have gone before morning call, so they might not be discovered together in such a way. King or not, he supposed he should have some tact for her reputation. They were doing their best to keep the knowledge of their relationship at a minimum- not from shame, but propriety. They had only just finished burying the dead from the war with the Night King and the Iron Throne, more close friends lost to death. And well... It was still settling with everyone about Jon's true heritage. Some would never be able to see him as anything but the bastard of Ned Stark and might speak ill when they learned who he meant to take as a wife and queen. _Let them talk, _Sansa had whispered the night before, when her mouth had trailed red hot kisses against his skin. _They'll always talk. _But he cared for her reputation and he knew she did too, even if in a moment of passion she'd said otherwise.

But... When morning came, he'd just not been able to untangle himself from her. He knew without a doubt he would marry her come spring, so why did it matter when the only ones in Winterfell were those who would never judge? And so when Brienne had quietly come into the room at dawn to light a fire in the hearth, Jon made no move to hide himself in her bed, but rather slung an arm across the woman he loved and went back to sleep. "I thought you had a council meeting this afternoon." Sansa's voice brought him back and Jon raised his face from her hair to look into her blue eyes, though he could feel her hand ghosting across his thigh beneath the blankets.

"I think I am ill," came his quick response, yet again leaning in so he could kiss her, this one long and passionate, so much so that he could feel her sinking into him. "I should much rather spend my day in bed, wouldn't you?" He asked as he drew back with a grin, watching as her expression became one of mischievousness. . Her only response was to kiss him, her other hand sliding into his dark curls, threading her fingers between them. Jon was more than happy to spend every moment like this, every leisurely moment spent in bed with her would be better than any other moment ever could be. And so in bed they would certainly stay, locked in each other's arms, happier than they had been in what felt like forever.


	88. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa Spring Blossoms 2019, day 7.

_Jon,_

_You won't believe it, but Bran and Arya have come home! They are back in Winterfell where they belong. I am so thankful to have them both back. So many things are happening, I wish you were here. The Lords are growing restless the longer you're gone, though I am doing my best to calm their tempers. I think they fear what Daernerys will do to you or even convince you to do. Never fear, I've told no one the truth... I should die before that. But I miss you Jon, I do wish you would come home to me soon... Please, write back so I at least know you are well._

_Always yours,_

_Sansa._

[ x x x ]

** _Sansa,_ **

** _I wish I could write you more often, but I'm starting to worry about these letters being intercepted. The last thing I'd want to do would be put you in more danger... But I miss you, I miss you more than any words could ever express. I wish I were home, with you... With Arya and with Bran. I'm glad to hear they've both come back to Winterfell where they belong. I promise I will be home soon and I will defeat the Night King. I know you always say I cannot protect you, but I swear that I will. I swear I will always protect you and our home and our family. I meant what I said the night I left. Don't ever forget that._ **

** _Jon_ **

[ x x x ]

_Jon,_

_I can't tell you how happy I was when the raven came with your letter. I was beginning to think I'd have to send an army of my own to Dragonstone and fetch you home. I hope you are safe... Rumors are coming from King's Landing. It's being said that Cersei is pregnant and I have heard whispers of my name from the South. I have not forgotten our first enemy is the army of the dead, but do not forget there is another one that always looms overhead. She will not rest until she has what she wants. I'm not frightened, not when I have Arya here... You will be so proud of her when you see her again. She is not the same little sister we knew, though sometimes I still can see who she used to be inside of her. Bran too, he's changed even more than Arya._

_I wish you were here... Truly._

_Sansa_

[ x x x ]

_Jon,_

_Please come home... I need you. All is mostly well, I cast judgment for the first time and though father always said "the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword" Arya would not allow it. "A lady must not bloody her hands" she told me. I never told her the truth of Ramsay, so she doesn't know what I've done before. No matter... Though I suspect you are busy with negotiations with Daenerys, it's been so long since you last wrote. It is late night and I cannot sleep, I keep dreaming of you and dragon fire. I am worried for you. Please, just write to me and let me know you are well, that you are safe. I have something to tell you when you return. So please, come back to me when you can._

_Yours,_

_Sansa_

[ x x x ]

** _Sansa,_ **

** _Sweetheart, I'm sorry I've not written, you were right I've been busy with negotiations. But I'm happy to tell you all has been solved. Or so I hope. I will return to you soon. Prepare Winterfell for the arrival of a queen, I know you know well what that means. I am counting on you to hold up your end of the plan. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again._ **

** _Jon._ **


	89. Songs & Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa Spring Blossoms 2019, day 8.   
(I feel like i might have posted this one before)

It was as he approached the door to her chambers that he heard it, the soft singing behind the wood. Jon could not help but to smile, his heart fluttering as he thought of her inside, softly singing to herself as she brushed Ghost or perhaps just stroked his white fur. Quietly as he could, he pushed the door open a crack, just so he could peak inside at her without her knowing.

Sure enough, she was seated on the floor before the fire, black skirts gathered all around her as she brushed Ghost's thick fur. For a moment, he was plunged deep into a memory, one of her when they had been nothing but children... One of her brushing Lady and singing the same song she sang now. A childhood song he had heard Catelyn Stark singing to the younger children throughout the years. When he pulled himself free from the memory, Jon was grinning. It was only then that he slipped into the room, catching the door before it closed too loudly, though Ghost's keen ear tipped him off and a moment later the singing stopped as Sansa turned to see him there. "Don't stop on my account," he laughed as he dropped down to the floor beside her, reaching out to ruffle the fur she'd been so lovingly brushing. "I haven't heard you sing in years."

Sansa's face broke out into a wide smile as she pushed his hand away, returning the brush to Ghost's fur, fixing what he had messed up. "I'm practicing," she admitted with a soft chuckle, leaning in as Jon's hand pressed against her curved belly. "My mother used to sing to us every night," she said quietly, tilting her head as she smiled through the memory. "I would hope someday they remember me singing to them, too." Her other hand slid into place over Jon's and beneath their palms, they both felt their child moving. A promise of what was to come.

"They will," Jon assures her, leaning in to press a kiss against her temple. "Now, it's time to eat, don't you think?" He gets to his feet, extending out a hand for her to take. "Can you get up, sweetheart?" He teases, though he helps her onto her own feet with ease and she gives him a good natured hit to the arm for his words. Ghost prances around their feet as they make their way across the room and down towards the great hall, where they would share perhaps what would be the final supper without a babe to join them.

[ x x x ]

This time as he approaches the rooms, he stops at the door, smiling faintly when he hears her voice coming from within. He opens the door an inch and sees her there at the window, cradling their newborn son, singing that same lullaby she'd once only sang to Ghost. The wolf laid at her feet, his great head resting upon his paws, though his eyes remained wide open. It was as if the wolf was truly listening to every word that Sansa sang.

As he entered, she continued singing, her voice soft but strong as she sang their son to sleep. "He loves your singing," Jon said as she lay the babe in his cradle, her song coming to an end a moment before he spoke. "As I knew he would." She smiled and nodded, gently brushing her fingers along their son's soft, downy hair. "You will never believe what has been found in the woods today," she turned up to look at him then, surprise forcing a perfectly sculpted brow up. "Wolves." Her eyes widened and then she blinked, stepping away from the cradle, which Ghost had gone to lay beneath, as he'd begun to do from the day of the baby's birth.

"Wolves?" She echoed, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her face. "Direwolves?"

Jon nodded. "An entire pack. Half breeds, some, but a few true direwolves were spotted along the wall, well what's left of it that is. It would seem Nymeria has been busy." He watches as her face softens, her memory returning to the litter of wolves she and the others had raised and lost over the years. "The lone wolf dies..."

"But the pack survives." She smiles with a nod, falling into his arms as he reaches for her. The pack always survived. Always.


	90. welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by taylor swift's song: the 1.   
lyric prompt- and its another day, waking alone

And it's another day, waking alone.

She lays in the stillness of the morning for several moments before the door swings open, her ever prompt, ever loyal handmaiden Shae, striding in with a smile and nod. Shae understands her, Shae knows her, and so she leaves her lady to her own thoughts all while she feeds kindling into the dying fire, returning it to it's former golden glory. When she's finished with that, it's across the room she goes, thumbing through the wardrobe in an effort to find a gown for that day. As always, and without much effort, she knows how to pick the perfect gown. And so it's Sansa's favorite black and gray wool gown, cut in a fashionable style with draping sleeves that Sansa had spent hours embroidering white flowers along. "It's time, my lady," Shae finally says, knowing that if they waste much more time, it will be afternoon before she's ready for the day. Sansa can't help but to smile; there in private, Shae still yet refers to her as she had all those long months in King's Landing.

"Send for a bath, won't you?" Sansa asks as she swings her legs over the side of the bed, rising up as Shae brings her robe. As if summoned by thought, there comes a knock on her door and Sansa smiles as Shae turns to open it for the arriving pair of maids.

It doesn't take long for her rooms to be full of activity; two grooms have brought the copper tub in and while one maid hangs the privacy sheet, two others haul in the buckets of hot water, spilling them into the tub until it's dangerously full. Shae takes over then, dropping the perfect amount of rosewater into the bath, sent specially for the Queen in the North from Dorne, a gift from their ever persistent prince. Stripping from her robe and night gown, Sansa allows Shae to help her into the tub, sloshing water over the sides as she sinks below the surface.

On this day, there's to be a celebration, but the truth is Sansa doesn't care much for celebrating. Not when yet again, just as she had been at her coronation, she would be alone. It was true, she has Shae, and Brienne too, but she is without her family. Her pack. Arya had yet to return from her travels and Bran was of course in King's Landing. Though her younger brother wrote her often, it was not the same as being together beneath the roof of Winterfell. And... No, she cannot think of him, it's far too painful yet to think of him.

And yet...

She does. She can't help it.

She thinks of Jon when the sun warms her skin in the courtyard. When she sits in the great hall, sitting alone where she once sat at his side, she thinks of him. Though the lords of the North cheer to their Queen in the North, she wishes they might cheer to their king. In the godswood, the only place she can find an hour to herself, she loses herself in the memory of him. Of his hands, tangled in her hair. Of his Stark gray eyes, softening only when gazing at her by the moonlight spilling in through the curtains. The truth was, everywhere she went, she was reminded of him, reminded of the pain that was the loss of him. She thinks of him always. Always.

"My lady..." It's Shae, dropping to her hunches at the side of the tub, reaching out to tenderly stroke her queen's cheek. Until that moment, she had not realized she'd even begun to cry. "Today is a happy day." Shae says in a tone that brooks no argument, one which brings a halfhearted laugh from Sansa's lips.

If nothing else, Sansa has Shae, and for that she is thankful.

[ x x x ]

It's a long day of celebrations.

The feast lasts long into the evening, with dozens of toasts to the queen and to the coming of spring. They toast to surviving another year, they toast to those who had died just over a year ago so they might live.

But now it is late and all she can think about is stripping from her heavy gown and climbing back into her bed. To her surprise, Shae is not within her room when she enters, though the fire is burning and her bedclothes lay out on the bed as they always do. Sansa sighs as she lifts her crown from her head, setting it aside on the table, thinking perhaps she might read through the letters she had not had time to read that morning, but it's just as she's breaking the seal on the first one that Shae slips into her room. "My lady," she dips her a curtsy, rising up to meet Sansa's gaze with one of her own. "I have heard that there is a rider at the gate." She says and at once, Sansa is casting aside the letter she once thought she might read, a knot twisting in her belly.

"This late?" She hears herself ask, to which Shae nods.

"Lord Royce instructed him to be fed and given a bed for the night-" Shae begins, watching as Sansa's eyes widen, surprise taking root.

"H-him?" The young queen squeaks, daring not to believe it, though against her better judgment her heart has begun to beat wildly in her chest. "It is a man?" It could be anyone, she tells herself, it could be any man seeking shelter from the cold night, it could be any other man but him. And yet...

Somehow, she knows.

"Send him to me." She commands and Shae nods, backing from the room to head downstairs, to where the man was eating in the kitchens. Left alone, Sansa rises from the chair she's been sitting in, suddenly far too nervous to remain still. Instead, she paces back and forth, doing everything she can to calm the racing of her heart, to steady her uneven breathing, telling herself that it won't be him that walks through her door. It won't be...

There comes a knock and she nearly leaps from her skin. The door opens and at first, it is Shae that steps into the room, though a man follows in behind her, a man with a head of dark curls she would recognize anywhere. "Jon..." She whispers aloud the name she's only spoken in her mind, the name she's refused to utter aloud to anyone, even to Shae, even to Brienne. It is the name she's dreamed of for the last year, the name of the man she's loved all this time.

Before she can say another word, Jon is approaching her, his Stark colored gaze steady as it finds hers. "My queen," he speaks, his voice thick, but it is the voice she knows, the voice she loves. Behind him, Shae ducks from the room with a smile, but neither Sansa nor Jon even notice. He unsheathes Longclaw and sinks to his knee then, offering his sword in reverence to her as every Lord in the North has done. But not a single one of those pledges of loyalty could mean what this one does. "I have come a humbled man, unworthy to stand in your presence. But I hope... I hope I might beg your forgiveness." He tilts his head back so he might look up at her and just as her eyes fill with tears, so do his. "I have come in hopes you might allow me to once again stand at your side." 

For the last year, Jon has thought of little else beyond the woman that stands before him. She has consumed him like a fire; in his dreams and waking thoughts alike, she was always there. In the stunning blue skies, he saw her eyes. When the sun sank beneath the horizon and the skies faded to crimson and gold, he saw her hair. When the wind blew past him, it was the whisper of her voice against his skin.

For the last year, he has wrestled with feeling undeserving of being beside her, of even allowing her to lay her eyes upon him. But as the day marking one year of her reign approached, he'd been unable to wrestle any longer. And so he had set out with Ghost, to return to the place he once thought he might never return to.

It takes only a moment longer, but she's raising him up, hands somewhat shaking as they reach for him. They slide into place against his cheeks, rough with stubble, a reminder of nights long ago. "Sansa..." He whispers her name, soft and slow, and it is enough to undo her entirely. Without another thought, without another word, she's in his arms, sinking into him. Jon wraps his arms around her, the gesture still familiar, still imprinted upon him.

"Welcome home," is all she's able to whisper before his mouth finds hers. 


	91. fire & ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more folklore inspired jonsa.

She paces the length of her room, black skirts sweeping across the floor with every step that she takes. It's dark, the only light that of the moon that slips in through her parted curtains. Even the fire has died in the hearth, leaving no warmth and no light, but she cares not. Her mind is too wrapped up in all that has happened in the last few days, since the arrival of the dragon queen and the man she isn't certain she knows anymore. 

Pausing at the window, she peers out into the swirling winter storm that rages outside, the only thing she can equate to the storm that rages within. She wishes to curse, to scream, to cry. She wishes to be heard, she wishes to feel as if everything she's done up until this very moment was worth it. She wishes.... 

No, she won't even think such thoughts. 

Instead, she turns from the window, to return to her pacing, ignoring Ghost who whines at her from his place upon her bed. Despite Jon's return, the wolf remains at her side, often pressing his cold, wet snout into her palm; a reminder. Though the wolf huffs, he returns his head to his paws, though she can feel his red eyes upon her as she crosses the room to stand before the cold, dark hearth. 

"Sansa." 

She jumps, a gasp escaping her as she revolves on the spot to find herself staring into Jon's eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you..." He whispers, having only meant to glance into her room, hoping to catch a glimpse of her peacefully sleeping. It would be their only interaction that didn't end with her sharp glares and venom laced words. But when he had realized she was awake, Jon could not help himself from slipping inside. He didn't know what he would do once inside and now that she stares back at him with such a fierce gaze, he thinks he's made a mistake. "It's cold." He finally hears himself saying, pushing past where she stands so he might kneel before the hearth, striking at the kindling left behind until the sparks catch and slowly, the fire begins again. Behind him, Sansa hovers, silent and still, watching as Jon feeds a log into the flames, building it until the room is full of light and warmth. Only then does he rise up, turning back so he can face her, well aware of just how quickly his heart has begun to beat. "Sansa..." She's bathed in the firelight, the golden haze weaving into her red hair that gives her such a ethereal look that for a moment, the breath is stolen from his lungs. For a single moment, she softens, and everything is as it once was. 

Hearing him speak her name in such a way is nearly enough to undo her. But she holds herself steady, giving her head the smallest of shakes as she takes a tentative step forward, closing the distance between them. "You shouldn't be here," is what she says, though the words she wishes she could say fall between them, a barrier that is almost too wide to cross. "Your queen won't like it." She cannot stop the jab before it falls from her lips. Seeing Jon's face fall does not give her any sense of satisfaction and at once, she regrets it, but she does not take it back. His Stark colored eyes are dark as coal and the firelight frames him in such a way that she can barely stand it. _Why, why, why?_ "Jon... I..." She begins, as if she means to apologize, but he's the one who shakes his head, almost as if he understands. Almost as if he knows he deserves her sharp tongue. 

When he reaches for her, he is warm like the fire that burns in the hearth. No, he is warmer than even the burning flames. 

If Jon was fire, then she was ash. 

His arms wrap around her and though part of her wants to break free, she sinks into him, yielding to his embrace as she always does. The touch of his skin against hers ignites her blood like fire, spreading warmth through every inch of her. Jon is like a flame and if she isn't careful, soon, she too will be engulfed. And yet... Isn't that what she wants? In that moment she realizes that no matter what, her faith in Jon can never be shaken. It isn't anger that fuels her, but jealousy. Jon is the spark of light in her life, he is the hope she's found in the cruel world that surrounds her, and to think that there could be another woman who he sees in the same light... It is crushing. But when Jon holds her like this, it is a reminder that it is she that he loves, that he holds her above all others. "I don't mean to hurt you," he whispers against her hair, bringing her back to the moment, removing her from her mind that swirls like the storm outside. "I would rather die than see you hurt by what I do, what I say." He has so much to say to her, this woman he holds, but knows that now is not the right time. "Keep your faith." All she can do is nod, but it is enough, and she can feel the soft press of his lips against the top of her head. 

Even when he's gone and she's left alone again, she can feel the warmth of him, can feel the grip of his embrace. Standing before the hearth, she outstretches her hand as close to the fire as she dares, allowing the flames to lick at her skin, uncaring of the tender burns left behind on her fingertips. In the fire, she can see him, feel him. In the darkness of her rooms, she knows she wants him, misses him, loves him. In the heat of the fire, she knows she longs for the touch of his hands sliding into her hair, of his lips kissing far more than her temple or cheek. 

It's as she's pushing the furs back on her bed that she hears the door creak open again.

As she turns, Jon is striding across the room, taking her into his arms in such a way that the breath escapes her in a soft cry. Before she can speak, before she can react, his lips find hers and his arms wind around her hips, drawing her in as close as he can. When he breaks free from her moments later, he is as breathless as she, but smiling as he tips his forehead against hers, gray eyes smoldering in the firelight. "I have wanted to do that for far too long." He admits, softer now, tilting his head slightly as their eyes meet in mutual understanding. How long as she wanted him to do such a thing, after all? 

"I have been waiting," she says with a quick smile, arms draping across his shoulders, marveling as always at just how perfectly they fit together. They've been here before, well, almost. 

"You should have said so." He utters, lips at her ear, breath warm as it ghosts against her throat. He's setting her aflame and she's ready to burn. 

"I don't mind waiting," she whispers back, to which Jon laughs, one of his hands sliding up her spine to instead thread through her vivid red locks. "But don't keep me waiting much more." He grins before he kisses her again, this time deeper, this time with far more meaning than the one before. One that she wishes would last a lifetime, one that she never, ever wants to let go of. 

And so she kisses him back, uncaring that she might catch fire and burn.

In truth, it's all she can hope for. 


	92. nightmares & dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the midst of a nightmare, it is jon that can calm sansa's fears.

Once, her mother had told her she would be the most beautiful queen Westeros had ever seen. 

Now, her mother rots in the ground and she lives in a nightmare, trapped in the same place where she was once loved, once treasured. No longer did she dream of a golden crown nor a kingdom of her own. Here in Winterfell, the place she was once safe, the place she's longed for since the day she left, she wishes to be anywhere else. Anywhere else but the place where Ramsay Bolton resides. 

_Sansa.._. 

She whimpers; she can't bear it. Not again. 

_Sansa... _

It comes again, the soft whisper of her name in the dark. It's more urgent than before, but she cannot stop the tremor of fear as it races her spine. Hands tighten to fists, head twisting back and forth as she fights to reclaim the strength she knows hides deep within, strength that only comes when Jon reaches for her hand. _Jon..._ She thinks of him, wishing he were here, wishing he would ride through the gates of Winterfell and save her as she once wished Robb would. 

"Sansa!"

This time she wakes, albeit with a gasp, shooting up from where she lays against her pillows. "It was just a dream... Just a nightmare." It's Jon, smoothing back her hair from where it's plastered against her sweaty brow. It's Jon, leaning in, arm snaking around her- close, yet still so very far. "I'm here." He whispers, finally drawing her in, to which she yields, burying her face into his shoulder as the tears begin to flow. 

Just like that, the memory of the dream fades; sharp words become soft and violent hands become gentle. In Jon she finds her strength, her hope, her faith. As it's been so often lately, Jon is the one to push her on, to remind her that despite it all, there is still yet good in this world. Her wounds, still yet deep, still yet fresh, seem as if they mean to heal when Jon holds her like this. "It was him." She whispers into the dark, voice muffled as she buries deeper into his shoulder. He smells of a burning fire and ale, reminding her of crisp autumn days, reminding her of days she's certain they will never again see. 

He tightens his grip upon her, tight as he dares, inhaling the rose water scent that clings yet to her hair. She is soft and warm in his grasp, she is the only thing in his life that seems to make any sense at all. She is his light, she is his home, even if she does not see it. "He can't hurt you ever again." Jon has made certain of that. And so has she. "You're safe with me." 

She clings to him, the one thing that anchors her to this world in which they live. She recalls him; bloodied knuckles and wild eyes, eyes that told her everything his words had never been able to. Even now, hours, days, weeks later, the sight of Jon, bloody and beaten, knuckles bruising, is imprinted upon her. "Don't leave me." She whispers and of course he nods, for how could he ever leave her? 

And so he slides into place beside her, drawing her back down against her pillows, safe beneath the furs and his arms. "I'd never." He murmurs back, breath warm as his lips hover close to the shell of her ear. Against him she's pressed and for a long while, Jon lays in silence beside her, merely listening as her breathing evens out to the soft and slow breathing of someone sinking deep below the surface of sleep. "No matter what," he goes on, softer than before, so soft that even if she'd woken from her slumber, he's not certain she'd have heard. "I'll never leave you." A kiss to her temple, a kiss to her cheek, and then he too closes his eyes. 

Together they would sleep, together they would find peace. 


	93. i'll keep you safe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wrote some reunion jonsa cause i was having a bad day.

When he first catches sight of her, his breath hitches, chest tightening; disbelief rushes through him and for a single instant, he doesn't believe it's her standing there in the courtyard. But then she's turning, ever so slightly, revealing to him that despite the years since he's last seen her face, he remembers every detail. Except now, heartache stains her, anguish clings to her. 

A single step back, bare hands releasing the icy railing as he takes to the stairs, moving his way down to the courtyard, hyper aware of the dozens of eyes that have turned upon him. But in that moment, all he can see is her... All he knows is those big blue eyes. Eyes he's dreamed of, eyes he's longed for. Once, those eyes might have narrowed at him, but now they soften. Lips that once might have twisted in disdain now tremble as she tries to speak his name. 

The snow falls gently around them, a soft dusting brushes across her shoulders while snowflakes melt into her vibrant red hair. "... Sansa..." He hears himself whispering, her name still so familiar, yet somehow still foreign. He's thought often of her, this long lost sister of his, though it seems as if the young woman before him is a ghost of the girl he remembers from childhood. In his chest, his heart beats so very fast he thinks surely she must be able to hear it, so fast that for a moment he thinks it will beat right out of his skin.

At the sound of her name, the breath she's been holding comes out in something like a sob, something like a laugh. Jon opens his arms to her just as she takes the first running step towards him and as she falls into place in his embrace, he sweeps her off her feet. Jon is warm, Jon is gentle, Jon is safe. For the first time in what easily could have been several years. She can't recall the last time she felt something so warm, something so wonderful. And so she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in, yielding to his touch. 

She is sharp bones beneath her thin, torn clothing, but she is alive. 

She is alive and she will be safe, because he will make certain of it. 


	94. Forever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let's hope this is a comeback piece.

When the door opens, he knows it's her. 

She comes across the threshold, allowing the door to fall closed behind her, leaving them alone within the rooms that once belonged to Robb. Rooms neither of them have stepped foot in for many years. "Jon." The whisper of his name falls from her lips and Jon feels his heart twist in his chest. Just the sound of his name is enough to undo him. He's settled into the chair that sits before the fire, his bloodied clothes discarded, exchanged for clean ones brought to him by a maid he recalls from childhood. Sansa approaches where he sits, sinking down to his level, a heap of black skirts against the rushes. "Your hand..." 

She brushes her fingertips across his bruised, broken knuckles, breath catching in her throat as she closes her eyes. "Sansa..." Lashes flutter and it's a moment later that his other hand has fallen into place against the length of her jaw, tilting her head so her blue eyes meet his. "I don't regret it," he says softly, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. Her laughter comes as something between a sob and a chuckle, but a wane smile remains, her hand sliding into place over his. "None of it."

"I know," she whispers, leaning into his touch, sinking beneath the warmth of his skin against her own. "Thank you." Jon blinks, as if he's surprised, but his features soften as she closes the gap between them, her body both warm and comforting as he envelops her into his embrace. The weight of her body as she sinks onto his lap is everything he's ever wished for and when she curls into him, head tucking into the curve of his shoulder, Jon can't help but to close his eyes, knowing there was no redeeming him from his sinful thoughts. "We'll be together... Always, won't we?" Her voice is a whisper, a thread in the falling darkness. Jon swallows and leans in so he might brush the softest of kisses against the crown of her head. 

"I'll stay at your side always," he answers softly, honestly. Not even the Gods themselves could take him from her now. For her he's gone to war and would gladly go again, if it meant keeping her safe. For her there was nothing he would not do. "Or for as long as you like, that is," he amends, knowing someday there would surely come a time when she no longer needed him. When it would not be him who she crawled into bed beside after a particularly awful nightmare. There would come a time where it would not be his hand she reaches for first, nor his eyes she looks for across a crowded room. But, selfish as it might have been to think, he hopes it stays that way a while more. 

Her weight shifts as she pulls away, just so she might look at him head on. Her eyes are wide, as if she doesn't understand the words he's only just said. "Forever," she whispers and Jon closes his eyes against the rising tide of emotions within him. "I want you beside me forever, Jon." And then she's sinking into him once again, fitting into place against him as if she were made to fit there. 

"Forever." He parrots back, soft and slow, before he buries his face into the top of her head, breathing her in. She is the only thing that's real to him, the one single thing that has kept him going since the day he came back to life. "Forever." 

It was a promise. 


	95. Once lost but now I'm home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some random post finale stuff  
found unfinished in my drafts, so i figured id finish it finally.

Winterfell looms ahead, daunting with it's sharp stone peaks, the storm clad skies giving it an eerie sort of backdrop. And yet, he presses on, spurring his horse forward, well aware of the quick pace in which his heart is racing. He knows what lays ahead of him might be the worst he's faced, and yet, there's even the smallest of chances it will be the best he's faced. Though he longs for the latter, he's prepared for the first.

When he reaches the gate, darkness has begun to fall and the soldiers peer down at him from the watchtower above. "Who goes there?" One shouts, though he and the man standing beside him have already exchanged a strange, but knowing look. There wasn't a man alive in Winterfell that would not recognize him, even now.

"Jon Snow." He calls back and it takes only a moment more for the gate to creak open.

"Lord Snow," another soldier says, not kindly, but Jon can't help but to smile at the sight of his Stark livery. "I can't imagine our queen would like to see you." The man goes on, crossing his arms across his chest as Jon slides down from his horse. Another smile twitches on his lips; her men are loyal, quite certainly, and for that he is thankful. "Something funny, Snow?"

"That's enough, Quinn."

The soldier turns, seeing not just Lord Royce approaching, but Davos Seaworth, who looks far less stony faced than the ever loyal Yohn Royce. "I'll take it from here," Royce continues, gesturing for the soldier to move along, who does only after he shoots Jon a final scowl. "Jon Snow." He says evenly, though he pins sharp, angry eyes upon him. At his side, Davos shifts, clearly torn between greeting the young man with fondness and adding fuel to the fire that so surely has already begun to brew. In the end, fondness wins and before he can react, he's wrapped in the older man's warm embrace; it's something he's not felt in so long, for a moment, he can't even breathe. But soon Davos steps back and gives him a single, silent nod, but meeting his eyes, Jon understands exactly what he wished to convey. "I'm surprised to find you here at our gate."

Jon is, too, in truth.

"I was summoned." He replies, shrugging slightly.

"Summoned?" Lord Royce stammers, shaking his head, clearly surprised to hear of this. "By whom?"

"The queen herself."

After a little more back and forth, Jon is taken from the gate and swept inside, sent to the kitchens to warm himself by the ovens and eat some leftovers from that evening's meal. He's eaten no more than three spoonfuls of soup before the door to the kitchen opens and it's Davos standing there. "You might have come when she first sent for you," he says as he comes inside, the door falling closed behind him.

Jon looks away, knowing that to be true, but he hadn't been ready back then. How could he face her, how could he stood at her side, knowing what he'd done? It was true, he had done it for her, for their family, for the realm... But still yet... All he had done to get to that moment where he'd stood before Daenerys in the throne room of the Red Keep... No, he was not a man worthy of standing beside someone like her.

But perhaps now, perhaps now if she forgave him... Perhaps he will be the man to stand at her side.

"Aye..." He finally says, turning back to look up at Davos, who offers a smile. "Is she terribly angry with me?" He decides to ask, not certain he's ready to know the answer.

Davos can't help but to laugh in spite of the young man before him. "She was." He admits, sobering then, thinking back to those early days. Back to the days of a stone faced queen with eyes sharper than steel, colder than ice. Days of a queen who took to her rooms, rather than live in the lively court that most expected of Sansa Stark. But then... After so long, she began to smile again. Arya returned from her travels and it lightened her heart, softened her icy exterior. "But she was sad, too." Jon bows his head again, spoon left abandoned as his hand curls into a fist atop the table. "Your queen is a forgiving one, though, tough, but forgiving. She is soft inside yet." Jon can't help but to smile, thinking of her as she was when they reunited in King's Landing. With war braids tied into her vibrant red hair, she had rode south with an army at her back to lay claim to what was hers. "She even forgave Lord Glover, now he is one of her most loyal of men." Jon raises his eyes at this news, for he thought that would be a relationship never to be mended.

Before he can speak, the door opens again, and this time it is Lord Royce. "The queen says she will see you now," he doesn't look eager to do so, but he gestures for Jon to follow after him. Scrambling to his feet, Jon pauses only a moment to put a hand to Davos' shoulder, giving the man a nod, who smiles in response before he turns to watch Jon disappear out the door after Royce. "It's about time," he grumbles to himself before settling down in the chair Jon had vacated, helping himself to a mug of ale, hoping the young queen he's come to love will finally find true happiness.

Upstairs, Sansa is pacing.

"My lady, please," it's Shae, desperate to get her queen to cease her walking just so she might straighten her skirts and brush her hair. Here, in the privacy of Sansa's own rooms, she dares speak to her as she once did in King's Landing, though Sansa has always insisted she call her whatever she pleases. "You needn't worry," she says, catching her young queen by the hand then, forcing her to finally come to a rest at the center of the room. "He loves you still, I am certain, he will return to you without fail."

Sansa dares not believe her beloved handmaiden, but she nods like an obedient child anyways.

It's been a long two years since the day she and Jon parted ways on the docks of King's Landing, so very long that sometimes it only feels like a dream. No, not a dream, but a nightmare. Once she dreamed of violence and shadow, now she dreams of golden sunlight and a different kind of pain. "My gown, I should change my gown." She suddenly sputters, thinking that there's absolutely no way she can meet with Jon wearing the one she wears. But before she can say another word, there comes a knock to her door and she swears she might faint there on the spot.

Shae smiles, patting her cheek tenderly before she slips by, crossing the room to open the door. Sansa can see it is Lord Royce there and her heart has begun to race, faster than ever before. Shae dips a quick bow and then is stepping aside, allowing Lord Royce to step inside and at once, he's there, standing in her rooms.

Her world suddenly ceases to spin.

"Leave us." She hears herself say aloud and both her loyal Hand and handmaiden slip from the room, leaving them alone. He is as she remembers him to be, though with more beard and more curls tucked into the bun at the back of his head. Despite it all, her fingers twitch, for she longs to run her hands through his wild hair. "... Jon..." His name is a whisper upon her lips, something like a plea, something that is enough to send chills racing the length of his spine. "I can't believe you came." After all the summons, after all the months, the years, she cannot believe he's standing there in front of her.

Jon cannot take his eyes off of her; she's beautiful there in what looks to be a well worn blue wool gown, with draping sleeves and a slim fit bodice, a gown made for a queen. Her red hair is loosened from its braids and rather tumbles down her back in soft waves, enticing him all the more. "My queen." He finally speaks, saying words that for the very first time don't feel hollow, that don't feel empty. Without another word, Jon comes forward, dropping to his knees before her. She opens her mouth as if she means to interrupt, but he gives the smallest shakes of his head, silencing her before anything else is said. "I don't deserve to stand before you, I don't deserve to ask forgiveness of you, but I..." He trails off, gazing up into her steady blue gaze, emotion choking him as he fights to find the words to say. The words that might make her understand. "I want to stand at your side, if you'll have me." He wasn't ready back then, he wasn't the man she needed him to be back then when he'd left for the Night's Watch, but now... Now.... He thinks himself ready to be the man she's always needed him to be.

As she stares down at him, all the anger that she ever held within flees. It dissipates as she sinks to the floor, ignoring his protest as she levels herself with him. Everything she's ever thought, ever felt, fades away as she takes his face between her palms, tears misting in her eyes as a smile curves on her lips. "What took you so long?" Is all she asks instead, her words eliciting something like a chuckle from him. There in the moment, all that remains is the love she's always kept in her heart for him, all that still yet remains in her heart is the warmth of him, the strength of him. Everything about him that makes her happy, that makes her whole.

Before she can say another word, before he thinks to speak again, he draws her into his arms. Two long, cold, lonely years he's spent without her, without knowing the warmth of her skin against his. This moment he's imagined hundreds, if not thousands of times, but no dream could ever compare to what he felt right then with her so truly in his arms. "I was lost," he breathes against her head, the familiar scent of rosewater still clings to her hair. The realization brings a soft smile to his face. "But you guided me home." She's drawing back, blue eyes finding gray, her rosy lips curving with the most beautiful of smiles. In the golden firelight, she is radiant.

It takes only a moment more for his lips to find hers and in that moment, her world begins to spin again.


	96. take me home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some random s8 feels.

They've been here before. 

The clutching hands, the ragged breathing, the gaze that lingers just a moment too long. Or perhaps not long enough. "... Sansa..." Her name is a whisper upon his lips, so soft, so quiet, she thinks for a moment she must have imagined it. But then he's reaching out, fingertips tracing along the length of her jaw, leaving fire in their wake. There's so many things she wants to say, so many things she wants to hear him say, and yet.... The silence almost says it all. 

Don't go, she wants to scream, don't leave me behind! Her hands tighten their grip on the front of his wrinkled white shirt, his doublet tossed aside on the back of the nearest chair. His hand slips from her face and instead slides into her hair, uncaring of the pins he knocks loose in his haste to feel the auburn tresses between his fingers. She closes her eyes as she sinks into him, breathing him in; he smells of fire and smoke. "You know I'll come back to you, don't you?" He asks, his voice steadying her, calming her. She knows, she knows... He's the only one who's never let her down before, the only person she's ever been able to trust. "I promise you, Sansa, I'll come home again." She opens her eyes so she might look into his, knowing that the only thing she can do is believe, the only thing she can do is trust what he says. 

"I'll wait for you," she finally whispers, the truth falling from her lips with ease, without hesitation. "But don't make me wait that long." She goes on, her words bringing a chuckle from his lips. 

"I'll be back before you know it," he promises, knowing that if there were any other way... He would never leave her side. But, in order to protect her, to protect the North, he knows what he must do. 

And so he will go and he will save her and the realm from the monster that heads to claim her throne. 

[ x x x ]

In shackles, he waits. 

He waits for death, he waits for the end, because surely there can be no other options. 

Perhaps he deserves this punishment, for taking the life of his own blood, even if it was for the good of the world. Truth was, he'd draw the blood of anyone that threatened Sansa's life, and so if he must pay the ultimate price for his crime... So be it. He sighs, thinking of her, every inch of her still yet committed to his memory. Her sweet scent, her gentle touch, her radiant smile... All of her... He cannot forget. 

Footsteps. 

Jon looks up as they stop outside the dungeon door, muffled voices speaking before there comes the sound of a key in the lock. Before he knows it, the door is swinging open, and it's not the Dothraki standing there but... "Sansa..." He blinks fast, as if he's not seeing things correctly. There's no possible way that she's here in King's Landing and there's certainly no way that she's managed to barge her way into his holding cell.

And yet....

"Unchain him," she's commanding and the man nearest to her leaps at the tone of her voice, surging forward to do exactly as she's bid. When the chains fall free from his wrists, she's sweeping into the room and she sinks to the floor before him, her lips smiling though her eyes are misty. "Leave us." She barks without a backwards glance and sure enough, the two Dothraki bow and step out of the room, allowing the heavy door to fall closed behind them. With the most gentle of touches, she's reaching out, ghosting her fingers along his bruised and battered wrists, where the shackles have rubbed his skin raw. 

"I don't... I don't understand," he's saying as she raises her gaze back to his face, head tilting as she takes in the sight of him; he's thin and his hair is wild, but he's alive. He's alive and that's all that matters. "How did you..." She's got war braids twisted into her red hair, her severe black gown one he's never seen before. She is every inch a Northern queen. 

"You took too long to return," she says with a smile, her hand instead reaching out to cup his face, his beard rough against the soft skin of her palm. "So I've come for you, instead." Jon can only laugh before he reaches for her, drawing her into his arms, holding her as he's only dreamed of doing these last few weeks. "It's time we return home." She says when he draws back, holding her at arm's length, staring at her as if he's heard wrong.

"Home?" He questions, blinking those Stark colored eyes of his. "How can I go home?" 

Sansa laughs, having realized she's not explained anything at all to him. "We have much to talk about," she says, rising up from the floor, brushing off her skirts. "It is lucky we have all the time in the world, now." She extends out her hand for him to take, helping him up onto his feet, steadying him when he stumbles. "You saved me once, now it's my turn to save you," she admits softly, her hand slipping into his, giving it the most gentle of squeezes. Jon wonders why he hasn't told her that she's already saved him, but he can only smile, choking with emotion as he nods. 

It was as she had just said, now they have all the time in the world. 

And so, someday he will tell her, someday he will thank her. 

But for now... He grips her hand tightly and pulls her in close, doing the one thing he knows he always should have done. He kisses her. He kisses her and he knows, without a doubt, that this moment was the one he's been waiting for all this time. "Let's go home." He says when they part moments later, somewhat breathless, but smiling. She nods and still yet hand in hand, they slip from the cell and together, they will go home.


	97. my savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a quick warm up piece.   
setting is just after their season 6 reunion.

She's sinking..._ Deeper.... Deeper..._

It's so dark beneath the icy cold water, she can't see, she can't even feel. Water rushes into her mouth, into her lungs. She's drowning, drowning, drowning... The water is uncaring of her thrashing, in fact, it only seems to draw her deeper down the more she struggles. The higher she reaches out her hand, the deeper she sinks, fingers left grasping at nothing. It's over, it's all over, and so she resolves herself to be strong, to be brave. At least where she's going she can't get hurt anymore. At least where she's going, she won't be alone anymore.

_Sansa..._

She's imagining it, she must be, for there is no way that a voice can permeate the darkness.

_Sansa..._

She opens her eyes and that's when she sees the hand, pale and smooth as it plunges down towards her, so unbelievably far down, until fingers are threading through her own. And then she's being pulled upwards, skywards, back towards the surface of the dark, cold water. Towards the sunlight, towards the warmth, towards safe arms...

When she wakes, it's a moment before the face is revealed to her. She wakes from the dream unknowing who came to her rescue, as no one ever had before. Though it is early still, she rises from the furs and shivers into her robe, draped over the back of the chair nearest the fire, already burning brightly in the hearth, thanks to Brienne. And as if her lady knight is so attuned to her, she's coming through the door, ready to do as she's bid. Though anything but a handmaiden, Brienne has without a word of protest, learned to tug the strings on a corset and button even the tiniest of buttons. Though she once thought her hands were only good for swinging a sword, now she knows now that there was so much more her hands were meant to do. "Are you hungry?" Her sworn shield asks, bowing as Sansa sinks into the chair before the fire, ignoring the face her lady makes. Though Sansa insists she needn't do it, Brienne cannot help but to bow to her as she does. "You must eat," Brienne goes on when the young woman shakes her head, turning away. Noting her pale cheeks, she can only assume that her lady has not slept well.

"I will in the hall, with the others," she says after a moment and though Brienne sighs, she nods, opting to instead fetch the dress that hangs on a peg along the other wall. It is the third morning of their stay at Castle Black and already, Sansa has begun to look forward to eating in the hall with Jon and his wildling comrades. They were a rowdy bunch, especially that Tormund, but for the first time in many years... Sansa feels an ounce of safety when she's in that hall, surrounded by men who would truly protect her. Men who would throw down their very lives to ensure she was safe. And it wasn't just men. She raises her gaze back up to her sword shield, her lady knight, the one who had found her. The one who had brought her here, to Jon. "Thank you, Brienne," is all she says when the woman approaches, gown in hand, ready to help her dress. Reaching out, Sansa takes hold of her hand, giving it a soft squeeze. The lady knight swallows, her chest tightening, the breath she's holding escaping as she tenderly squeezes Sansa's hand back.

"It is my honor, Lady Sansa." Brienne replies, softly, unashamed of the tears that mist her eyes.

A short time later, Sansa emerges from her rooms with Brienne at her heels, fully dressed in a gown of gray wool, red hair twisted back in a knot of braids, a style she recalls her mother often wearing. Draped across her shoulders is the furs Jon had given her that very first night, ones that once had been warm with the heat of his body. Thinking she might find a moment to herself alone, she breaks from Brienne at the doors that lead into the common hall where for the last two days, she's shared meals and conversations with both Jon and his comrades. Slipping inside, she's surprised that despite the early hour, she is not alone in the hall.

Jon turns from where he stands at the fire place, feeding kindling into an already burning fire. "Sansa," he greets in his raspy, tenor vocals; his accent is as she recalled their father's to be, though his inflection far different than his had been. "It's early." He adds as she comes to a stop before him. "But you were always early to rise," he recalls that of all the Stark children, it had just been Sansa who ever rose as early as he did. Despite their distance as kids, there had been more than one occasion where they met in the godswood, both seeking early morning solace before the day began.

She smiles at his words, giving a quick nod; it was true, she had always been an early riser. But she doesn't want to admit to Jon that nowadays, she only rises so early to avoid the terror of her nightmares. "I thought I might visit the sept," she admits, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Since there is no godswood..." Once, she had sworn she never prayed, but perhaps she only needed to pray to the New Gods, as her mother had done. For a moment, Jon feels a pang of guilt, a pang of knowing he cannot provide to her the one thing that might, in this moment, bring her comfort. But to his surprise, she's smiling, head tilting as her blue eyes find his. "Perhaps the New Gods will listen."

It takes only a moment, but now he knows what he must do.

He extends out his arm, hand towards her, an offering. "Let me accompany you," he grins, though not much of a man of prayer himself, he was happy just to be near her. Though she looks somewhat surprised, she nods after a moment, sliding her hand into his. It's at that moment that true shock takes root, but she only grips his hand tighter when he tries to draw away, thinking it to be him causing her to worry. "Sansa..."

"I would like that," she says, pushing him towards the door, looping her arm through his as he falls into step beside her. Her tone offers no room to argue and the truth was, Jon wouldn't dare. It's only been a few days with her and he's been well reminded of the sharpness of both her wit and her tone. Standing this close to him, she can catch his scent, a lingering of smoke and snow, something she cannot explain, just simply knows. And the feeling of his hand in hers... She's felt that before, too, even if it were only in her dreams. How she'd missed it that morning, waking from that dream... How had she missed it that her savior had been Jon?

She glances his way as they walk, him draped in old Night's Watch furs, him with his Stark features, though looking at Jon was not painful as she thought it might be. Looking at him did not remind her of the family they had lost, but rather, it reminds her that not all has entirely been lost. That despite it all, they still yet have each other. And for that she is thankful. Noticing her stare, Jon turns to look at her, but she only smiles as she shakes her head, leaning into him as they make their way out the double doors and into the snowy courtyard.

Together they go and together they will stay. 


	98. tomorrow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quick piece set around the night of the fight with the night king.

She's seen these eyes before.

Frantic, wild, and full of everything his words have never been able to say. 

"Sansa..." Her name is a whisper upon his lips, hands clenching into fists at his sides; it's taking everything in him not to rush her, not to sweep her into his arms, no matter how she might protest. Her lips part, rosy and plump, lips he's not once forgotten the feel of. It's as if she means to speak, but thinks better on it, for those lips close and she lets out a long, shaking breath. Lids sweep closed over sapphire eyes and for a single, horrible, painful moment- he thinks it's because she can't stand to look at him. "Everything I've done... It's all been for you." 

The admission falls from his lips without hesitation, without fear. At once, her eyes open again, her stare wild and wonderful. "I told you I would protect the North." He goes on, softer still, his hand reaching out to tentatively stroke the curve of her cheek. "There is no North without you." He thinks back to those days, days not so long ago, when she rode in through the gates of Castle Black, a mere ghost of the vibrant girl he remembers from childhood. He thinks back to her first smile in those early days, uncertain, but a flicker of who she used to be. He thinks of those days, when his fist still ached with the pain of beating Ramsay Bolton within an inch of his miserable life. And of course he thinks of her in those many days after, days where she once again began to shine. He's gone to war for her and he will go again, if only it means she will stay safe. He will take a crown he does not want, if only to keep her from harm. He will protect her, as he once promised, because she is the one thing that has kept him going all this time. She is the one thing, the only thing, that matters. 

"But Daenerys..." Her voice is a whisper, hands twisting in the folds of her gown, a nervous twitch he's not certain even she knows that she does. 

"Back then... When I promised to protect you... I meant it." He says by way of explanation. Another day, another time, he will tell her everything. He will tell her the truth of what he's done, of what he would always do, to keep her safe. But on this day, the day that very well could be their very last... He only wants to spend it right where they were, her cheek cupped into his palm, a moment they've had before, a moment he so hopes they will have again. Besides, there's so much more he has to say to her, things he's longed to say since before he left for Dragonstone, things he's longed to say to her since the day before. "Tomorrow, after the battle..." 

She takes a step closer to where he stands, closing the gap between them, her hand reaching out to press against his heart. Against her palm she feels the flutter of his heart, beating in time with her own. "You'll come back to me, won't you?" She asks, thinking of the battle he must ride out to, knowing that darkness looms at their very doorstep. He can't find his voice, but he nods, a silent promise. "I believe in you." Her smile is wane, but it is hers, and it fills him with hope. With warmth. "I always have." Though she might not have shown it in these last few days, the truth was, her faith in Jon could never be shaken. He was her constant, the one person who has never once let her down. "Tomorrow." She says, leaning in, forehead to forehead, lips so close that Jon can feel when they curve with a stronger smile. 

"Tomorrow." He whispers back, before he captures her mouth with his own. 

If nothing else, they have this moment. 


	99. another time, perhaps.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i get drunk & finish jonsa drafts.

In the darkness of early morning, he wakes from a dream of snow.

It falls gently, softly, a reminder of days long since left behind. 

Though, perhaps not quite so far.

When the knock sounds, he somehow is already expecting her, waiting for her. Despite the early hour, despite it all, she's there at his door that morning, snowflakes woven into her vibrant red braids. She's tired, but she's brave; she's afraid, but she's strong. "Sansa..." Her name falls far too easy from his lips and yet, from the way her lips twitch with a smile, he knows it's the only thing he could have done. He's been back North all but twenty-four hours, trapped between doing what he's always wanted, and doing what he knows is best for his family. Best for her. 

"I'm sorry, it's early," she says, but he's shaking his head. Suddenly, all he can think of is sliding his hands into her vibrant red hair... "Jon." Her voice breaks free and he snaps back to reality, back to her standing in his doorway. "Can I come in?" She asks, softer still, and he nods, stepping back only so she might step across the threshold. As the door swings closed, Ghost leaps up from the place he snoozes, instead choosing to press his cold, wet nose into Sansa's open palm. With a surge of warmth rushing through him, Jon watches as she sinks to her knees, a heap of black wool skirts, all so she might bury her face into his wolf's snow white fur. There is something about this, something about seeing her there with Ghost that warms not just his heart, but his very soul, his very being. 

"I dreamed of winter," he admits, recalling the blinding white snow, the lingering scent of the blue winter roses. She rises up from where she kneels, though her hand remains in place against the top of Ghost's head. "It is coming." 

"It's already here." She replies, thinking of their father, of their brother, of what was yet to come. Sometimes she wishes she could read minds, or perhaps just hearts. Jon hesitates, though she sees the way his hand clenches, as if he wishes he could reach for her. She wishes he would. 

He thinks of everything he wishes he could say, he thinks of everything he knows he owes to her. And yet, the words do not come. Though, strange as it is, she seems to not mind. Instead, she chuckles, softly, before her hand gently clasps his elbow, more like two lovers than siblings. He wonders when he began wishing that was true. "Are you afraid?" He asks, softer than before, his hand falling into place over hers. She glances away, but when her gaze returns to his, she shakes her head. After all this time, from where they once were; she, riding through the gates of Castle Black, a mere ghost of the girl she once was... And Jon... Betrayed, torn between the living and the dead, his world bleak and gray until that moment he saw the snowflakes glistening in her vibrant red hair. After all this time.... There was no way for her to be afraid of anything. 

"How can I be...? I have you." In Jon she finds safety, she finds promise. It was because of him that she stands there, alive, that she stood there, loved. In Jon, she finds peace of mind, the only person who in the end... Hasn't let her down. He's gone to war for her and will go again, she knows this better than anyone, she probably knows this better than even he does. "I was, though," she admits, thinking of the dark days without him, thinking of the lingering touch of his hand to hers, felt long after he'd sailed away from her. "I was afraid of what she would do to you," Sansa knows what their enemies are capable of, she knows better than anyone what someone would do to protect their own, to propel themselves forward. Her hands take hold of the front of his shirt, his armor and furs still yet unworn, leaving him unusually bare. "I was afraid when I saw her." She goes on, cheeks flaming, but unable to help but to speak the truth that's written upon her heart. Daenerys Targaryen was soft and silver-haired, a sweet faced woman with a raging temper that reminds her of the dragons she calls family. "She is beautiful..." 

Jon's hand is at her cheek then, gently, softly, fingertips trailing the length of her jaw as he leans in close. They've been here before, so close, yet so far. They've been here before, wishing for more, wanting what surely can never be theirs. "Aye, she is," Jon admits, his forehead tipping against hers; she's so close now that he can feel the curve of her lips when she frowns. "But there is no one more beautiful than you." In all his time away, it was her that he's thought of, her that's gotten him through. Now that he's returned, Jon is certain he can never again leave her side. "Sansa..." They've been here before, too, but there is something different this time, something neither of them can deny. 

Just as she opens her mouth to speak, there comes a swift knock to the door, the sound alone enough to force them apart, quite like an electric shock. It's Arya that comes through the door without a moment's notice; she notes the wildness in her siblings eyes, though she knows they hope that they hide it well. Sansa's cheeks are stained pink and at his side, Jon's hand clenches in a fist. "Am I interrupting?" She asks, torn between laughing at their expense or just telling them to get on with it already. It's wrong, Arya knows, but in all the time since she's known either of them... They've never looked so very happy. 

"Of course not," Sansa barks, surging forward, all swinging skirts and billowing red hair, pushing past Arya to head for the door. For a long, single moment, Arya and Jon lock eyes, something unspoken falling between them. Of all the Stark kids, she was always the one who knew him best. "Are you coming?" Sansa's voice breaks in and Arya lifts her shoulders in a nonchalant sort of shrug, though she turns around all the same, only after she shoots Jon a mischievous sort of grin. It's true, she knows it's wrong, what's brewing between the two, but for some reason... Above all else, she wants them to be happy, no matter what that means. 

"We are," Arya says, falling into step beside her sister. 

Behind them, Jon follows, because it's all he knows, it's all he wants. 


	100. worth waiting for.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set just after jon's return to winterfell.

When he finds her, she's on the battlements, draped in furs, ivory skin stained pink from the cold. She turns at the sound of his approaching footsteps, but her face does not betray her; rather, she only gives the smallest of nods, the faintest of smiles, before she's turned back to look out into the vast frozen land that has become their home. They are days from a fight with the Night King, weeks from one with the woman who sleeps beneath their roof... "I've missed you," she says as he falls into place beside her, their shoulders just barely brushing. "I could not say that... Not then." She's thinking of their courtyard reunion, when he had been unable to contain himself, unable to help but draw her into him, breathe her in. There had been so many things to say to her that day, so many things to say to her now.

"I wrote to you," he reminds her, which brings a chuckle from her lips. She shifts towards him then, Tully blue eyes meeting Stark gray. "As often as I could, anyway," he goes on, wishing for a moment to return to the last time they stood where they stood now. His lips, even now, can feel the warmth of her skin against them. That day, so long ago, when they had won back Winterfell, when they had shared a moment there on these very same battlements... "I missed you, too," he says with a slight shake of his head. For the first time in weeks, he speaks the truth. 

Sansa smiles, tilting her head as the wind catches her hood; she puts a hand up, but is not quite quick enough, as the hood blows back, revealing to him her vibrant red braids, twisted back in a way he's never seen before. His hand twitches, reminding him, hurting him. How often has he wished to run his hands through her red locks? To feel the softness slip through his fingers? "I don't think your queen likes me much," she says after a moment more, though her shoulders lift in a nonchalant sort of shrug, as if it doesn't matter all that much. As if she is fearless in the face of an angry Targaryen queen, as if she worries not about the wrath in which such a woman can bring.

"I don't think she likes anyone much," he says, unable to help but to reach out, fingers tracing the length of her jaw as he frowns. "Besides, she's not my queen," he continues, frowning, though his fingers linger there against her skin. "I told you..." Her hand catches his, warm and small, her smile returning. "You're the only one." Sansa would be the only queen he bent to, truly, the only queen he would ever call his own. It was true, once he was called the King in the North, but it was only so he might get to where he was now. It was only so he might protect her and protect the North. Soon, he hopes, he will swear fealty to the one and only, his one and only.

She leans into him then, chest to chest, so close that when he breathes in, it is the scent of roses clinging to her hair that he smells. "I missed you," she repeats, inhaling him and exhaling again. He smells of smoke and Ghost. "I thought I might miss you forever," she thinks of the long nights, the cold nights, of wishing he was there, of wishing for so much more. 

"I'll never leave you again," he swears, his voice muffled against the crown of her head. Sansa chuckles, but she believes him, for he's never let her down before. 

"I know," she replies after a moment more, because it's the only response that makes any sense. 

He's wrapped his arms around her before another moment can pass and his embrace is warm, is strong, is everything she's ever needed. When she finally draws back from his grip, she's staring intently into his eyes, lips parting as if she means to speak. But he leans in, mouth hesitantly capturing hers, the quickest of kisses that still yet leaves her reeling, even when they part but several moments later. "Sansa... I..." He means to apologize, but he finds he cannot, not when that was the one thing he's always wished himself brave enough to do. 

Her gloved hand is against his cheek then, a mirror of his own from only minutes before. Above them, the sun is sinking, crimson and gold against a dark gray backdrop. Soon it will be night, soon it could be their last. "I know," she says again, all understanding, as always. "It's cold," she goes on, hand falling to instead take hold of his. "Let's go inside," she tugs upon his hand, and though he longs to see her there in the night, starlight woven into her bright red hair, he merely nods, allowing her to lead him away. 

Once inside, it's towards her chambers that she leads him, silent but steady. At her door, he pauses, hesitant, but her hand squeezes him- the only encouragement he needs. As the door swings closed behind them, she's draping her cloak across the back of the nearest chair, discarding her gloves atop the side table. She wears a dress that is more armor than gown, but it is fitting, in more ways than one. Jon sucks in a breath as she approaches, her hands raising up, unclasping his own furs so she might slide them from his shoulders. Those same furs she sewed for him, made for him, gave to him. "Sansa..." Her name is soft upon his lips and she smiles, giving the slightest shakes of her head. Tomorrow there would be time for talking, time for understanding, time for figuring things out. Or so they can only hope. 

She's the one kissing him then, soft and slow, sweet and strong; it weakens his knees, steals his breath. His hand slides into her hair, fingers threading through the red strands, wondering how he's gone all of his life without knowing the feel of her against him. When she breaks this second kiss of theirs, she's as breathless as he, but she's smiling, laughing, crying. He catches the first tear with his thumb, tenderly wiping away the rest as she closes her blue eyes. "Am I that terrible?" He asks, to which she chokes, eyes once again opening as she again shakes her head. "Then what...?" He leans in, forehead to hers, his breath warm when he exhales. 

"It's just..." She knows they toe a forbidden line, that they can never fall into what they're so dangerously close to. And yet.... Of all the things she's done in her life, of every moment that's led her to where she was... Nothing has ever been clearer. Nothing has ever before made so much sense. "I've wanted this... For so long... What if this is the end?" Her true fears- her only fear- that Jon would be taken from her in this upcoming fight. That the Night King would destroy all that they had built together. It was not dragons nor Targaryen queens that frightened her- but the army of the dead and the king that led them. 

"Sansa..." He pulls back, just enough so he might look her in the face; she's tear-eyed, her rosy lips just slightly parted as she stares back at him. "I promised you that I would always protect you... I meant it back then and I mean it now." It was the one thing in his life that kept him grounded, centered. Through the long weeks at Dragonstone, it was the thought of returning to her side that kept him going. And now, as he partners with a woman he loathes to fight a battle that deep down terrifies him... It is her that keeps him standing strong. "I will come back to you, Sansa, I swear it." When she smiles, it's everything. 

He takes her into his arms and for now, that's where they will remain. 

For now, that's all that either of them needs. 


	101. a loyal lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some jonsa but from lord royce's pov.

She was not afraid to face Ramsay, nor even Joffrey, and so she is not afraid of the dragon queen. Not even Daenerys' dragons could frighten her, despite the flames that they belched and the shrieks that came as they streaked through the Northern skies. No, she was resilient as stone, like Winterfell, like her father; she was a Stark and so she could be brave. And yet... She was afraid. Not of Daenerys, not of her dragons, but of death itself. Of the army that would soon march towards Winterfell, towards her home and those she loves most. She is afraid, afraid to lose those she's only just gotten back. 

"My lady?"

It's Lord Royce standing there in her doorway, head tilted as he takes a moment to observe her there behind the oak desk. If he notices the unusual paleness to her skin, or even the tired look upon her features, he mentions it not. Instead, he approaches the desk she sits behind and bows, as he would to a queen, as he thinks she's always should have been. "The men are prepared to keep the gates open until nightfall." It is the agreement she and the other lords have come to- keeping the gates open so late into the night could put they themselves into harm's way... But all she can think about those still coming to Winterfell for safety, closing the gates too soon could mean the death of innocent people. She knows she cannot save them all, though she wishes she could, but she is willing to do what it takes to save as many as she can.

"Thank you," she nods, unable to help but to let out a long, slow sigh. Relief rushes through her, warm and steady, and for a moment she can breathe easy. She locks eyes with her ever faithful lord and offers him a smile, which catches him off guard- but he finds himself smiling back. This was a young woman he would bend to, be loyal to, a young woman he knew would lead the North into a golden era, if only given the chance. "They say if not tonight, then surely by tomorrow," she speaks suddenly, her moment of relief fading as she's reminded yet again of what's to come. 

"Aye, they do," Lord Royce replies, shifting back towards her. In that moment, she is not a lady, she is but a frightened young woman hoping that no one notices. "But all will be well," he goes on to say, offering her another smile, one he hopes she finds encouraging. "Fear not, my lady." As she stares up into the older man's eyes, Sansa has no choice but to believe him. His kind gaze is strong, steady, and it brings the once fleeting relief back. 

Though she opens her mouth as if to reply, there comes a knock to the half open door, and Jon Snow is there, peeking through the crack. "Sorry to interrupt," he says as he slips inside, acknowledging Lord Royce with a nod. "But I thought I might have a word with the Lady of Winterfell," he casts those Stark eyes towards her and Lord Royce can't help but to notice the glimmer of a smile upon her face. 

"My lady," he bows for her before he backs from the room, pausing only when he's stepped into the hall, just so he might look back one last time. By then, Jon has slid into place atop the desk, seated just to the right of where Sansa sits behind the desk. She's smiling as she looks up into his face, every trace of her fear gone as she basks in the glow of what one might call love. Lord Royce can only chuckle, shaking his head as he turns away, allowing the door to the solar to fully close, leaving the pair alone behind it. 

He supposes it's wrong, the nature of the relationship between those two, but in a world such as theirs... One full of fear, of anger, of war... In a life that has been far too full of horror, of grief.... Of all people, Sansa Stark deserves any bit of happiness she can get. And so he walks away, content in knowing the lady he serves so willingly, can find a moment of joy in what could be their last, lingering hours in this life. 

[ x x x ]

When the dawn breaks, they are alive. 

Somehow, someway, they have survived. There was a cost, of course, lives had been lost and the horrors of war were not limited to a battlefield. Even now, hours later, he shudders at the memory of a white walker rising from it's icy grave, of the sound of tearing flesh, of piercing screams.

As night falls once again, they are raising their glasses in a toast to those who had died so they might live on. They, the survivors, feast and drink and celebrate, if only to avoid the empty feeling of loss, of guilt, of being the ones left behind. He watches, silently, from where he sits at a table with several others, as when they think nobody is watching, his lady and her half brother share the most tender of stares. Beside them, the cold but beautiful dragon queen seethes in silence, as if she too is aware of the warmth between siblings, as if she already knows she can never come between them. 

The night goes on and when he rises up to finally head to bed himself, Lord Royce realizes his lady is no where to be seen. A quick scan of the room tells him that Jon Snow is also missing from the room, though his rowdy wildling companions still are raising their goblets in his honor. He slips from the room out the back door and the hall he steps into he finds to be empty aside from the great white wolf that lingers outside a door. The wolf does not cause him fear, he's grown used to him after all, for he never strays far from his lady. 

Ghost raises those eerie red eyes to look upon him as he approaches, but does not raise his head from his paws, laying there on the floor in front of the door. The wolf is as used to him as he is with him, for which Lord Royce supposes he should be thankful. Pausing outside the door himself, it takes but a single moment for him to hear the voices, soft and somewhat muffled, passing through the thick wood. It's her of course, Sansa was there in that room with Jon Snow, who he can hear speaking lowly to her, words he's unable to make out. Now he understands, the wolf is their guardian. "Keep her safe," Lord Royce speaks softly, as not to alarm them inside the room, and leans down to pat the wolf upon his head. As if he understands, the wolf thumps his tail once against the stone floor, and closes his eyes again. Tonight, the wolf will keep watch. 

And so he moves on his way, smiling to himself. 

[ x x x ]

"My lady?" 

Lord Royce finds her upon the battlements, staring forlornly out at the retreating back of Jon on horseback, leading an army away from Winterfell, away from her. She does not cast a glance his way as he approaches and it's only then that he realizes she's been crying. "He swears he will return," she whispers after a moment, voice breaking, her eyes closing as she sucks in a breath. In that moment, she is uncaring of what harm the truth might bring. In that moment, she is but a young woman full of heartbreak, full of anguish. A young woman who must, once again, watch the man she loves walk away from her. 

"And so he will," Lord Royce replies without thinking, without hesitation. She turns to him then, widening eyes full of surprise, rosy lips falling open as if she means to speak, but cannot find the words. "If there is one thing that I know, my lady, it is that Jon Snow is a man of his word. If he says he will return, then return he will." She holds fast to his gaze and a moment later, her features soften, and to his surprise she's smiling. 

"You're right," she says, feeling far more clear than she has in days. "You're right," she repeats, turning away again, only to see that Jon has finally disappeared from her line of sight. "Thank you, Lord Royce," she says after a few moments of silence, shifting slightly so she might face him again. "It seems as if you always know just what to say." 

When she's gone, Lord Royce offers a silent prayer to any of the gods that might have been listening... A prayer to return Jon Snow to Winterfell, back to his lady, just so she might be happy once again. But until then, he would keep watch over her. 

[ x x x ]

It's late when he hears the call at the gate. 

He's already shrugging on his cloak when the knock on his door sounds; a man in Stark livery stands there to tell him Jon Snow has come through the gate, with Arya Stark and the others that went South, though just as rumors said, Daenerys Targaryen did not return with them. She was, as it was said, dead, her one remaining dragon gone off towards Essos, perhaps never to bother Westeros again. Perhaps, but not certainly.

"Do not tell our lady," he commands as he exits the room, the man on his heels. 

As they descend down to the main hall, Lord Royce can see that the torches have already been relit, casting Winterfell into a hazy light. Tugging his cloak a bit closer, he steps out into the night and sure enough, already sliding down from his horse in the courtyard is Jon Snow. Others come through, such as the redheaded wildling Tormund, though young Arya Stark is nowhere to be seen. "Jon Snow," he greets as he approaches, uncertain if he's to bow to the man that surely is to be proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms. Though, Jon certainly seems not to care, for his eyes are wildly searching for one face and one face alone. "She is in her rooms," he says, knowing, understanding. Jon blinks, grinning, before he reaches out to clasp the older man on the arm before he darts away, through the freshly falling snow and up the stairs, disappearing through the main doors. 

By the time he reaches her rooms, Lord Royce can hear their voices from within.

He pauses, only for a moment, so he might crack the door and peek inside. In the center of the room they stand, arms around one another, holding onto the other as if their lives depended upon it. Lord Royce smiles and lets the door close once again. He returns down the hall, shooing away the maids that approach, thinking they might bring food and ale for the newly returned King. 

Stopping at the end of the hall, he sinks onto the guards bench, intent on ensuring they remain undisturbed. It takes only a few minutes for the white wolf to appear, settling himself at Lord Royce's feet, his intentions the very same. Reaching down, he pats the wolf's head and then sits back, knowing that his watch had begun again. 


	102. are you happy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some post season 8 angst.

Her eyes say it all.

_We could have had it all,_ those blue eyes say as they meet his from across the room. Her hand, which one reached for his, reaches for another's instead. "Lord Snow," that same man says as they approach, her red hair shining in the firelight, a reminder, another pang of pain within his heart. He's on fire and yet, she seems to crumble to ash before his eyes. "We missed you at the wedding," her husband continues, a man of noble birth, a man that brings with him wealth and the support of Dorne. A man that offers her far more than he ever could. 

"I heard it was quite grand," he replies, the only thing he can think of, the only thing that makes any sense. 

"In truth, it was lavish, but well worth it," the prince of Dorne replies, casting a glowing look in her direction, the love the man felt for her quite evident. She blushes beneath his gaze, her hand tightening ever so slightly upon his elbow. If nothing else, he knows she is loved, he knows she is safe. "Ah, there is Lord Manderly, excuse me a moment, sweetheart," her husband leans in, pressing a kiss to her temple before he steps away, leaving the two of them alone there in the hall, torn between what they once were and what they had become. 

"You're happy?" He asks, gruffly.

Though it takes what seems like a lifetime, she nods. "He's not you," she admits, daring only to speak in a whisper so soft he's only heard it in the dead of night, when her head lay against his pillow. "But he is kind to me, he is a good man." She is happy, at least, she's as happy as she can be in a life without Jon. Perhaps, with time, she will learn to love the kindness of her husband, learn to love the gentle heart that beats within his chest. Their marriage is still yet new, and they are still yet young, she assures herself that someday, she will love the man she's married. 

Her words break his heart and heal it all the same. And though he opens his mouth to speak, they're interrupted by the man she calls husband, the man who so clearly dotes upon her, that cherishes her, loves her. He watches as they slip away, disappearing into the crowd, though he sees in that last moment, that final, lingering gaze that she throws across a shoulder, blue eyes once again meeting gray. 

Another reminder of what could have been, of what should have been. 


End file.
